The challenge lies in knowing how to bring this sort of day to a close. His mind has been wound to a pitch of concentration by the interactions that have haunted his recent days. Now there are only silence and the flashing of the unset clock on the oven. He feels as if he had been playing a computer game which remorselessly tested his reflexes, only to have its plug suddenly pulled from the wall. He is impatient and restless, but simultaneously exhausted and fragile. He is in no state to engage with anything significant. It is of course impossible to read, for a sincere book would demand not only time, but also a clear emotional lawn around the text in which associations and anxieties could emerge and be disentangled. He will perhaps only ever do one thing well in his life.
