You’ll lose your melancholy, which may very well come from your having too little blood, or being in poor condition, which, however, I don’t really believe.
It’s the blasted foul wine of Paris and the filthy fat of the beef-steaks which do it. I had reached a state where my blood had given up functioning, it literally wasn’t functioning at all. Anyway after only four weeks here it began to work again: but during just that time, my friend, I had a fit of depression like yours, from which I should surely have suffered as much, had I not welcomed it with pleasure, as a sure sign that I would get better—which in fact actually happened.
So stay in the country instead of going back to Paris, for you’ll need all your strength to come through the trials of your trip to Africa properly. And the more blood, good blood, you have beforehand, the better for you, because it’s probably difficult to get in condition down there in the heat.
Painting and making love aren’t compatible, it saps the brain, that’s what’s such a bore.
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