—, December 30, 1912, 6:30 P. M.
A hurried writing previous to departure for Chicago. The past three months, ones of disillusionment and blasted hopes. Future uncertain, but atmosphere cleared for anything that turns up.
Suddenly deciding last night, Sunday, to leave for Chicago—slept on more or less irregularly, and had trunk packed early this morning (previously ready for quick departure), tickets, etc., by noon—theatre this afternoon, and everything nearly ready now.
Turning point insofar as leaving future to chance instead of carefully planned out course . . . . for my temperament to settle down to any such dull routine as seems necessary to get on as others have. Besides, I have lost a certain grip I had before the early part of this year brought on acute nervousness, and it needs quick action to put me into touch with life. Slow and sure is not my forte, but fast and intermittent, and I have to face it whether I will or not.