Friday, 7 December 1883

Dina is often ill — migraines. She cannot pose. I am wasting my time. I am doing nothing. For a month now. Nothing! It puts me in a rage that makes me want to scratch! I am making sketches for Julius... Caesar. It does not grip me, but one can find interest in it, put something amusing, something of one's own into it — and in the end one must do it. I reopen the diary to say something about Bastien-Lepage — anything at all.