The night before we went into rehearsal, I was determined to get to bed early. When I got into my bath, I was singing. Gradually, deliciously, I could feel myself relaxing. In a sudsy dream I floated off, unknitting, unknotting, unravelling. I was so sleepy I could hardly put my pyjamas on and get into bed. I curled up into the pillow and was just dozing off when I noticed that the script we were going to start off with was by the bedside table. I thought it might be a good idea to have one last look at it, making a few notes along the way if necessary. Five seconds later, I was crawling under the desk looking for my pencil. When I retrieved it, I saw that it was broken. I tried using my eyebrow pencil, but it was impossible to read my writing. I finally got a razor blade, sharpened the pencil, popped back into bed again, and recurled myself into the pillow. The script was opened, the pencil poised.
All at once I rolled over on to my side. For no reason at all, I was in the middle of a black depression. I turned off the lights and lay back in the darkness, tired but wide awake, sleepy but unsleepy, too sleep to read, not sleepy enough to sleep, my eyelids pinned back from my eyes, my spine rigid. I remained like this for I don’t know how long until I had become aware of something else that was furthering my discomfort. I was beginning to be hungry. In no time at all, I was ravenous. Cursing myself for having forgotten to eat supper, I turned on the lights and looked at my clock. One o’clock in the morning. This made me at once more hungry and more tired. The hunger won. I rolled up my pyjama-legs, pinning them with the safety pins I found on a skirt, put on my raincoat and went out.