…Such aimlessness, such depression. Can’t read, write or think. There’s no climax here. Comfort yès: but the coffee’s not so good as I expected. And my brain is extinct—literally hasn’t the power to lift a pen. I’m disoriented completely. Oh the agitation, oh the discomfort of this mood. I at the top suffer strain; suffer, as this morning, grim despair and shall suffer an intensity of anguish ineffable (the word only means one can’t express it); holding the things;—all the things—the innumerable things—together.