Like a child weary with the sting of the loss of a game, I do not wish to play any more. I am tired of pretending. When I rise in the morning I feel only that it is to no end, and when I retire to bed at night I do so with the knowledge that the next day shall bring the same repetitive dead end tasks and duties. Relationships are souring and possessions are becoming increasingly artificial. I am afraid that I now fail to see the meaning in any of my actions. All the world is indeed, a stage.
E
