Spitball Army

The more I think and dream, the more I want you. It seems like I spend most of my time dreaming.

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I got my glasses O.K. You should see them. I doubt if you would like them any more than I do. They are GI glasses of course – made to take punishment not to look decent.

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One of my buddies has a novel way of keeping up his correspondence. He boasts at least 6 letters a week to his wife. That’s all very well and good, but I don’t like the way he does it.

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I have a nice cold. The nose-blowing or sniffing doesn’t bother me much but I have a nice cough with it that is annoying. It makes me hotter to cough.

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You said that if I kept on loving you, you would be happy. That’s a load off my mind. I won’t have to worry a bit about your happiness from now on.

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I’m going over to the other island and get my glasses tomorrow. I know I’ll enjoy myself over there and get a good meal.

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This letter writting business isn’t doing so good. I don’t get it. The time just seems to fly by too fast for me.

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I’m about ready to hit the sack, Sweetheart. Can’t be done just yet though, can it? I haven’t even told you that I love you and I haven’t wished you a happy birthday yet.

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It started raining last night just before mid-night and it is still drizzling. Very nice sleeping, I just couldn’t force myself to get up.

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The only females of the human race on this island are the 4 Red Cross women. I’m not interested in them. I saw them once. That was too much.

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