This morning I felt a little sick so I asked the Lieutenant if I could lie down—ate too many French fried potatoes last night. So I just got to sleep when Weber, the jeep drier came dashing in and threw me out of bed. Of course I appreciated that very much but before I could strangle him with a blanket he told me about the shipment. You know suddenly I felt like a new man. My stomach didn’t feel like an old sash weight anymore. Alles war wunderbar.
All I have to sweat out now is about 747,000 little details like who, how, when, where, why, and sundry other trivialities, but at least I know something for definite and that will be something.
Boy! Do I get mad. Everybody in the company last night with the exception of myself was as high as a kite but guess who had the hangover this morning. Yep, that’s right. Honestly, I haven’t drunk anything stronger than beer since VJ and yet I’m the one who must suffer in the morning after. Hell, if I knew that I was going to feel so bad this morning anyway I would have gone on a real toot. Oh well, C’est las Vie or sumpin’.
I’m afraid that these next couples of weeks are really going to be the longest in a long time. As long as I wasn’t sure about the thing I could be as philosophic as Zeno himself. But now I’ll be sitting on the edge of my seat all the time. It’s a good that I cut my fingernails short or I’d probably gnaw my hands off.
I’m afraid that I can’t think about anything else except coming home right now. I don’t kid myself though. There’s a lot of difference between getting orders and getting off the train in L.A. but I’ve got to start somewhere.
Well, that’s about all I’ve got to say for tonight. I haven’t received any mail for several days now so I guess that they have everything in a muddle again.