Saturday, September 30, 2006

14 December 1955

This will have to be short, as I’ve got to take a shower before going to bed. Let’s face it—who cares?

If I take a shower?

Yes, if you take a shower.

Well if I didn’t somebody would notice it.

So what? So why write about it?

Got to have something to write about.


Oh, come on, now, let’s not be bitter.

Who’s being bitter? I’m just stating facts.

There will now be a soft intermittent violin throbbing in the background.

So you actually thing you’re going to be a writer?

I hope so.

You know damn good & well you couldn’t even write an interesting piece on the end of the world.


Well what?

How much paper are you going to waste?

You know, I was just thinking, this might be called a split personality, but we both hate me.

Quick, fetch the wood—Joan of Arc is at it again.

Out, out damn spot--& on with the journal, if you’ll keep out of it.

I will.


We refueled at sea this morning, a beautiful day with the water as smooth as glass & a deep blue. Across it glided several grey ships, among them the Lake Champlain, several tankers, & some little destroyers, dragging a white bridal train behind them. I tried taking some pictures, & hope they come out, but am slightly confused by the complexity of the lenses, & get more confused as I try to figure it out.

Had a wonderful sleep last night, & enjoyed every minute of it, I think. Unlike my childhood I no longer begrudge going to sleep, but am still not too anxious to go to bed.

Each week we hold an inventory of all mess gear, & it is fabulous to watch the results. Every week, we lose an average of 200 cups (placing guards at all entrances & exits to the chow halls have little or no effect). Now that is a little steep—but when we turn up missing 39 mess benches (each 8 feet long) I can’t help but wonder: where on earth could they go? Oh, well, into each rain a little life must fall….

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