March 11, 1935

There's only one thing I want. I want to be sick to my stomach, and not to have to hear anything more about him for at least a week. Why doesn't something happen to me? Why do I have to go through all this? If only I had never set eyes on him! I am utterly miserable. I'm going to go out and get some more sleeping pills and drug myself, and then I won't have to think about it so much.

Why doesn't that Devil take me with him? It'd be much better with him than it is here on my own.

I waited for three hours in front of the Carlton, and had to watch him buying flowers for Ondra and inviting her to dinner. [That was just my mad imagination -- March 16th.]

He only needs me for certain things, otherwise it doesn't work for him. This is idiotic.

When he says he loves me, it only means he loves me at that particular moment. Like his promises, which he never keeps. Why does he torment me like this, when he could finish it all off so easily?