The Journal of a Disappointed Man

(On Sept. 29th, on the Doctor's advice I went away by the sea alone, my nerves being all unstrung. For an account of the miseries of this journey, see Dec. 12th infra). October 3. A wire to say Susan arrived 2.15 p.m. All well. October 5. Home again with my darling. She is the most wonderful darling woman. Our love is for always. The Baby is a monster. October 23. The fact that I can't write, finally bottles me up.[4] Damn! Damn! Damn! If only I can get my Essay on Journal Writers done. E---- goes on well. I have a thousand things to say. October 27. Still awaiting a reprieve. I hate alarming the Doctor--he's such a cheerful man so I conceal my symptoms, quite a collection by now. The prospect of breaking the news to her makes me miserable. I hide away as much as possible lest she should see. I must speak when she is well again. October 28. Life has been very treacherous to me--this, the greatest treachery of all. But I don't care. I exult over it. Last night I lay awake and listened to the wind in the trees and was full of exultation. Now I can only talk, but nobody to talk to. Shall hire a row of broomsticks. More and more, the War appears to me a tragic hoax. November 1. E---- has had a set-back and is in bed again. However sclerotic my nerve tissue, I feel as flaccid as a jelly.