Why am I so perturbed by what others rejoice in and take for granted? Why am I so obsessed; why do I so hate what I am being drawn into so inexorably? Why, instead of going to bed in the kindly, erotic dark, and smiling languidly to myself in the night, say “Someday I will be physically and mentally satiated, if I lead myself in the right path …” Why do I sit up later, until the physical fire grows cold, and lash my brains into cold calculating thought?
