Tues. Jan. 7, 1941
Oh, what a week this is turning out to be, Sunday started talking to Lucile, all afternoon way up high, that evening in the dumps, yesterday placidly enjoying myself, then today! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Why, why, why, I seem to be reeling in my head and heart, but the sensible, God-fearing part of me is repeating, “There shall no temptations be given thee beyond what thou are able to bear,” “because He was tempted he is able to succor them which are tempted,” “Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth."
Well to put it in simple terms, Leigh called me up tonight and asked me to go to a basket-ball game tomorrow, and tomorrow happens to be Wed. And I said no and he asked why and he was sort of disgusted! Well, I was angry at first but now I just feel resigned, impatient, hurt. I knew I shouldn’t go but ——— well there you are.
Oh, diary, I wish you could talk to me. I’ll see Lucile tonight when we sing for P.T.A. And weep on her shoulder. I’m afraid it’s just about sewed up any chance of going anywhere again. I’ll have to console myself with the Library Club skating party Sat. night but it isn’t at all the same.
Laura showed me a copy of that poem she wrote. It’s clever.
Well I’ve got to get ready. If anything important comes up I’ll add to this.
Oh I wish!