When calling by to see Chapman one
afternoon Keats was surprised to find his friend in bed and looking
forlorn. Various tablets whose packaging claimed they were good for the
health were strewn around the room.
'What ails you, Chapman?'
'Difficult to say. I'd describe it as a
sort of existential despair, though there must be a more exact
term... '
Keats thought for a moment, 'Would
taedium vitae fit the bill?'
'Possibly'
'How about ennui?'
'No, more acute than that. Could you
pass me those vitamin pills?'
'Dysphoria?'
'Nah, dem two over dere', replied
Chapman, betraying a certain return to form.
