New York, February 28, 1913.
I leave to-morrow for ——, my last trip. On the eve of a new month I feel indifferent. Hopelessness took possession of me several days ago, and I pretty well decided to end it all as planned.
However, as my money is gone I must work if I am to live even until May 10th, and, of course, if I work again for ever so short a time in view, I cannot say how long I may keep it up, so I say nothing.
I make no grand resolutions for beginning [of month], but the usual sexual one, having fallen again. Even if I must die because of my weakness physically I would like a
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