January 11, 1944 Tuesday

Dear Honey,

Tuesday is my day of silence from Keene and Westmoreland, so no letter today. Wonder how you are, tho. Much better and resting, I hope. My bunk-mate came back from the hospital today. Was very glad to see him, mainly because I'm tired of policing up for two.

This morning we had dry fire on the M1. Practised sighting and aiming and positions. Same stuff I got twice at Wheeler. In communications we are taking up voice procedure – we go around talking in the phonetic alphabet to each other. “Haxo[?] 1, this is Haxo two. Pass the butter. Over” “Haxo 2, this is Haxo 1, Wilco. Out.” Much fun for all.

Well, Honey, I'm beginning to relax for the first time since I've been here. No reason for it, except that you just can't go on being tense. Get more tired than usual when you're table waiter and just don't have the energy to be excited over anything. I work along at the usual rate but don't get so worked up over things done. It's the only way. Just let things roll along, doing what you can but not trying to turn the world around all alone. It goes by itself pretty well.

Feel real philosophical tonite, but have to quell the urge in favor of my drill regulations which I am memorizing daily, tho not fast enough for the powers that be. Read a little Confucius for me if you are able – think I have a book about him by Lin Yutang up at 23 Pleasant. Never read it myself as I wanted to.

Wig will ship out soon for North Carolina – as a corporal in a line outfit, they say. The 78th Infantry Division, or some such. He's in casual quarters now, loafing mostly. Hope he gets a furlough.

Bye now, Bunny. Get well for me, and remember I love you all the time.

Your embryo tanker,
Wallace