Camp Abbot, Oregon
I really have nothing to write about because I’m still in the goddamn hospital waiting for the goddamn medics to make up their goddamn minds that there’s nothing wrong with me. Every day I’ve got to scrub the floor or clean out the latrine, and if I’m well enough to work like that I’m well enough to go back to my company. I feel swell and am eating like a horse. This is my main reason for writing. I don’t want you to worry. Besides my disgust with the medics there’s this lousy country and weather. Every day a little hail, sleet, and snowfalls-only enough, however, to stir up the six inches of volcanic dust that covers the ground. I think they built this camp here with the expressed purpose of making everybody miserable and homesick. As yet I’m not miserable, but I’m sure homesick.
Pardon this poor writing. I have no table.
Lots of Love,