Anxiety (October, 1920)

Why is life so tragic; so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss.

I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.

But why do I feel this: Now that I say it I don't feel it. The fire

burns; we are going to hear The Beggar's Opera. Only it lies all

about me; I can't keep my eyes shut... And with it all how happy

I am - if it weren't for my feeling that it's a strip of pavement

over an abyss.