6 June 1956
Nine-fifteen & just time for a quick bit of lugubrious chatter. The Navy is a big outfit; one you should think would be able to make decisions, but no. Nobody knows from one minute to the next what is going on.
If they would jut say to me: "Margason, you're not leaving the ship till we get back," I'd say: "Too bad, but OK." Maybe they did stuff like that in the Confederate Navy, but not here. Here they say, in a sniveling, nasal tone: "You might get off. Maybe in Genoa, or Cannes. Then again, maybe you won't get off. No, you won't! Well, maybe…." Etc. ad nauseum.
The other happy bit of news for today is that yesterday, after shipping a huge package to Aunt Thyra's, I find that the government allows you to send only $50 a month through the mail—everything else is liable to Customs. So, Aunt Thyra might get slapped with a bill for from $38 to $50. Oh, ho ho, what a jolly life we lead!
For breakfast we had boredom, for dinner monotony, & for supper limbo.
Which brings to mind a beautiful dream I had last night—I really enjoyed it and only wish I could remember more of it—it concerned a man who could fly (sometimes it was me, sometimes it was someone else—you know how dreams go). He/I had no wings, but could fly—by my time-worn method of two running steps & a leap, arms upward.
This man was married, & lived in a white house on a corner. His wife was ashamed that he could fly. The only time he was unable to fly was when wrapped in a blanket.
He was flying—over a sidewalk with bushes along it, & over a policeman, who didn't seem at all surprised to see a man flying. This was the only time he was really happy—when he was flying.
He was walking toward his house—his wife came out with a blanket. I felt his/my sick fear &, crying, he leaped high into the air, twisted around, & plunged to the ground---.
It was so very real; no doubt there is a moral in there somewhere, & a very significant one, but I don't know where to look.
So you see, aside from my dream world, there is very little to tell you. We are at sea, & the sea is no doubt very blue & very wet—I wouldn't know, since I didn't even get near the hangar deck all day.
I went to Personnel Office today to re-check the list of discharges—this morning my name was there, 17th from the bottom, & the list ended 14 August. Tonite I went back & the entire page with my name is gone—the list now ends at 7 August. See what I mean?.
Tomorrow's plan of the day promises that it will be no less nor no more exciting a day than this. More then.