Letters: June 18, 1951

        I’ve slipped up on writing for a goddamn good reason. I’ve been mad--angry rather--and I mean angry. For the last six or seven days. What at? Well, for one--me. Also angry with the Army. Also angry with you. And angry with the whole world in general. There is nothing I can put my finger on exactly. I’m just angry--or was. I should say, and I don’t want to go to the trouble of clarifying it in any way. Probably it was just a periodical mood and I’ll let it rest there.
        I have received a letter or two from you--about your finals and your chance for a job on Lido--which would be real nice for you I would think. Your lament on your clothes--the condition they’re in--made me decide to send you a money order payday to help ease the situation. One thing--were you literal or figurative about your clothes?
        This war is sad--but July 22 I got to go back to Japan for R&R. One gay, mad, eventful week of steaks and salads. Something else, although don’t construe it with my next leave to Japan though it may sound bad--but did you know I haven’t seen a white woman since March. Honest. And damn few Korean women because they stay away from the front. Most civilians do. They’re not allowed. No nurses anywhere near us. The closest hospital, with nurses, is about two hundred miles away. Oh well… Just thought I’d tell you--it’s just one more thing to bitch about.
        I still can’t fathom the reason for “Tommy” (sob)(gasp). Doubting Thomas sounds or would sound reasonable, depending on what you have to doubt.
        Alas and alack, I’m bushed and it’s sack time abooot now. We had a small air raid last night and if we have another tonight I want to get a little sleep before. So by for now hon, and write real soon to let me know about Pomona and So Calif.