Dear Mother and Dad,
It seems like Sunday is about the only day I ever get the chance to do any writing. Since I wrote my last letter to you I’ve received two. To get mail over here is really wonderful. These last two that I received were postmarked on the fourteenth but written on the twelfth. Don’t apologize for not sending a birthday present. I probably wouldn’t have received it ‘till Christmas “anyhoo”. However, I won’t say that I don’t want to get any boxes from home. Over here it’s impossible to buy anything. They feed us fairly well but I’m really hungry all the time without any candy, etc. I don’t know how the regulations are but I think they’re clamping down to make room for the Christmas rush. However, if possible make it food.
Right now I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Maybe this is because I’ve quit smoking. I didn’t smoke at all before Reynolds but since then I’ve been smoking more and more until within two months I was killing about a pack and a half of cigarettes a day. That’s when I stopped. My tongue still hangs out every time anyone lights up. It’s funny how quickly that habit can get hold of a body.
I wish we were having a little of that hot weather over here. It’s so cold and damp that I feel like a wet sponge.
You asked me to send any kind of news and I’ll be damned if I can think of anything. Everything I think of is something that I wrote in my last letter. It seems that the longer I stay in the army the worse I get at writing.
I’m going to start sending some air mail V-mail and see if they don’t go faster. When I write anything about the war, etc. its ancient history before it gets home.
Well, I’ll try to think of something good to write next time.
P.S. Note new address