An excerpt from the journal of Franz Kafka:

Some of the thoughts in my head have… I don’t know… a nightmarish, complex, bizarre, or illogical quality. Boy do I wish there were a word I could use to convey that state of mind to others!

Life, it gets very bureaucratic sometimes. Sometimes things don’t make sense. I wish there were a word for those times.

Sometimes, you wake up and feel as if you are in another body— like a bug who doesn’t belong, maybe a huge insect or something. The world seems to make sense to everyone but you. Ugh! I wish there were a word for that.

It’s like… hard to explain. I give up. I’ll probably just write a story about a man turning into a cockroach and call it a day.