Wednesday, September 27, 2006

11 December 1955

A miserable day; my mind is a dark & empty reservoir, completely drained of thoughts. It’s just as well, for if I had any thoughts at all, I would feel terrible.

For one thing, I am becoming increasingly homesick—which isn’t the correct word, but the closest thing to it. Mail from home only aggravates matters. None of the letters I send home—perhaps ¼ of them—ever get there. The letters from home ask the same questions over & over & over. So I wrote home, or rather tried to---whether it ever gets there is another question—telling them that I’m not gong to write another letter while in Europe.

Sometimes I get so frustrated & angry I feel something will have to give. I realize that this is wrong thinking, not at all conducive to a healthy, red-blooded outlook.

When I get back to college I’m going to have to do some research on the effects of climatical changes on people. There definitely is one.

I give up—maybe tomorrow….

Postcard Dated 11 Dec. 1955, postmarked "U.S.S. Ticonderoga, CVA-14 Dec. 12, 9 a.m." Subject The Gardens of Victory Square, Genoa, Italy

Dear Folks,

These are the gardens I tried to describe in one of the letters you probably didn’t get.

I reverse the decision made not to write home—I’ll send post cards.

Sure wish I was home—the more I see of Europe, the more I want to be home. Oh, well, only eight more months (236 days). You can stop writing if you want, but I hope you don’t.

Love, Roge

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