Sunday, 14 August 1881

I had difficulty sleeping, and this morning it still hurts — in the back now too — and every time I breathe it is the devil, and when I cough it is two devils. Ah! Here I am in fine shape. Yes, in very fine shape.
Now I give up the painting — yes, that is final. But what time wasted!! More than a month.
As for Breslau — encouraged by her mention, everything must be going well for her. I have had my arms cut off and have lost all confidence.
It is raining.
What is vexing is that I no longer want anything. Go to Biarritz — what for? Can I enjoy myself? In the end, a month by the sea... and to what end?
In short I do not know what it means — why such hesitation over a simple study; the moment I decide not to do it, it seems I am letting my fortune slip away.
And the moment I set to work, it bores me, it is pretentious, I shall not finish, and it will rain. So I throw myself into an armchair and sit for hours like a dazed fool.