22 April, 1924
There is really no point in writing about today. In particular, the very odd experience that I had this morning. I will never forget it, not even if I begin to lose my capacity for memory as I grow older. I think that, if I wrote it down, I would become obsessed with the pages and would revisit them often, revising the account, deleting, adding, making the tale an eternal palimpsest. So, no, I will not write about it.