p49  May 8, 1942 . . . .

Monday. I got up today. A mistake one would think that, by now, I would have learned better than to commit.

Tuesday. Today it occurred to me that in reality all Tactical Officers are biting the hand that feeds them. If there were no cadets there would be no Tactical Officers and the present incumbents would all be out of work or eking out a very bare existence as hangmen or short story writers with no way to amuse themselves other than tying a small dog hand and foot and beating it. I could forgive all this if it were not for the fact that my hand has been bitten to a spot away up above my vaccination.

Wednesday. It appears that those strange little people who work in that Land of No Return, the Laundry, are a bit peeved because some cadets do not make out laundry lists. I believe they brought this on themselves. Once I used to make out a list before I sent my finery off on its one‑way trip up the hill until I felt that my health was suffering from the futile rages induced by getting back a bundle of old bird's nest fragments containing a note that would state that the Laundry had really received only a few dirty rags from me and as said rags were so filthy they could hardly bring themselves to touch them the Laundry was going to charge me six cents a thread. So I stopped both making out a list and looking at the infamous documents the Laundry sent back to me. And the little people who eat cloth waxed fatter and fatter. If I am forced to make out a list again, they had best watch their step as I am going to have every item notarized and the books had best balance or Armageddo will come to the Laundry.

Thursday. The Philosophy Department has lately gone in heavily for coloured lights. My other wife who evidently has a retina like a blotter now goes around complaining that there is a rainbow around both his shoulders.

Friday. It is not generally known that the Gymnasium staff maintain a variety of O. P.'s in, around, and about that huge pile of scabrous yellow brick which houses The Sword and its appurtenances. Today while innocently strolling by, breaking a regulation, I was leapt out at and five of those things were given to me to have and to hold until death do us part. I will not give this business its true name, but I will say that it is not cricket.

Saturday. Today He progressed from mere hand biting to throat gnawing. Sting me, Death, eight to the bar.

Sunday. Got up again. What a fool I am.

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