I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth; foregone all custom of exercises and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly journal has begun to want for my lack of diligence. In a word, I have lost something of my will to write.
This is, of course, not to say that I have lost neither the inkling nor the craft – but simply that my restless moods and wearied sensibilities have enveloped my usual discipline, discouraging that which was once a course of habit.
It is certainly not prompted by any lack of stimulation nor of incentive, for such abide in great measure… `tis, again, more to do with those fickle humors than anything of wit or reason.
Perhaps there is something to be said for the pace at which I was geared o`er these last months… for, like a runaway locomotive that has gone of the tracks, I have crashed into a wilderness of my own devising.