Missed one? Check the chronological list.
I’m not even gonna pretend. Things are about to get weird. Russ seems a little sleep-deprived? Or something.
December 3, 1960
Only 14 more days of living in terror. That’s one thing nice about each new day, because it’s one number less. It’s been less than a week since I was home, but it seems like a lot longer. Sometimes I wish time wasn’t so important and that life could be taken a little more leisurely, but then the grass would always be greener on the other side of the fence. But one can dream, can’t one?
I know he’s all madly in love with Karen but has anyone hated college this much ever? 14 days of terror?
With what is constantly said about the growing (?) hours of leisure that everyone is supposed to have, I don’t see any of the results.
I mean, I’m typing up your letters from 1960 while sitting on my sofa right now? Most people have tons of time on their hands these days. Look at the Facebook.
Progress toward making life easier and less laborious also seems to give it a faster pace. Our labor and time-saving devices seem to give us more time to work harder and live faster with modern medicine to prolong everything. But men have complained of this throughout history. A true dilemma.
The more things change, the more they stay the same!
All good things are worth waiting for.
The lenses on my glasses are scratched. And one cannot see through scratches. Almost enough to make me think that I’m missing half the fun when I have my glasses on.
I think you’re missing half the fun no matter what your glasses are up to. I wish we had anxiety meds to give Russ in 1960. I bet Russ is one of those seniors who spent his entire youth in torturous anxiety but now thinks young people are weak for needing meds because nobody had anxiety in his day. Heh.
An alternative is to look through the corners, such as they are, or through the edges. But then people would think I’m looking at them askance, with conceited superiority, or reprimandingly over the top, depending in which outer area I choose. Just can’t win.
It’s about to get random and weird and maybe Russ got high for the first time before writing this letter? He seems to devolve into a kind of stream of consciousness conversation that I can’t really follow. Good luck to you:
Fifty-five percent of all married people are women. Figure that one out.
Sixty-six and two-thirds of all lovers are men. The eternal triangle.
It’s called a Devil’s Triangle, I think? Heh. I think this is supposed to be a back and forth and I’ve put in returns where he started new lines, but like I said: I can’t follow this.
What is eternal about a triangle. Squares I can see, but not triangles.
I’m not mad I’ma tella you!
But you are.
Here we are, just the two of us. Isn’t it romantic?
…. That means we have a split norm, … insanity is abnormal … profound. Fat lot of good that definition does.
Maybe we’re both crazy!
Yes … that would cause complications …
Stop trying to prove I’m crazy and kiss me … darling?
I said kiss me!
But I can’t.
You’re a boy.
Now who’s crazy?
Our situation is hopeless… I have no norm to judge by… we are lost …
Maybe you are, but I’m not!
I don’t even know you anymore.
But you said you loved me!
So I did.
Why don’t you try it and see!
Kissing me, you lone psychiatrist!
OK! I did some Googling and The Lone Psychiatrist was a novelty record from 1955. It features cartoon voices that sound weirdly familiar if you’re a fan of Looney Tunes or the like. It’s supposed to be funny but it’s terrible because comedy wasn’t invented until the 1970s, I guess? Kidding! Novelty records have always been unfunny.
But I can’t … our love is an impossible one …
If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to kiss you!
Dream on, gentle one … for in your dreams you have found paradise.
What are you babbling about!
Maybe you’ll kiss me now!
What is so great about a simple kiss? I’ve come to a great decision.
You want no more than a kiss?
Then a kiss alone it shall be.
… what have you been eating!
Garlic sandwiches with rotten egg sauce. Why?
You taste like an unwashed garbage can!
I think the butter on the sandwiches was rancid, that’s probably the trouble.
Is this your regular diet!
You been seeing other women!
What makes you say that?
It seemed nice at the time…!
I feel the urge to wander.
Don’t go yet.
I must! Theordore is coming!
You can’t do this to me.
You laughed at Euclid and thought triangles were a myth! Now the sine has become the cosine and the hypotenuse has chose the other half of the tangent! When our world turned upside and the sine became the cosecant I decided that the situation had become unbearable and I have not created the exsecant! Good-bye …..!
That roommate spiked his drink, right? Something.
I think I’ll call the above “Romance of the Lines.”
I warned you to stay in your lane and not write poetry, friend.
Check any good book of trigometric formulae for an explanation of the last bit of dialogue, and remember that you are creating a potential monster every time you draw a triangle. And you’ll just have to excuse my inane meanderings
We always do.
They don’t account for much. It’s better than becoming another Leopold of Leopold and Loeb.
Finally! A true crime reference!
Find out when St. Xav’s Christmas dance is scheduled and where it will be.
I just helped the fellow across the hall out of an insoluble situation, namely, the translation of a German sentence. I told him what a “bonvivant” was. The authors are apparently rather tricky using a French word, commonly used by English-speaking peoples, in a German story. Dirty pool. In any case, Dave couldn’t find the word in any German dictionary.
A bon vivant is someone who’s the life of the party; one who enjoys life’s luxuries.
Dave also read the dialogue I included in this letter. I think he doubts my sanity. I do.
Frankly, I don’t care what Dave thinks of my sanity. I know I’m not crazy.
I heard a good joke today, … about a boy talking to a girl studying a menu: “Filet Mignon? That’s pickled goat’s liver. Why?”
How funny because women are less worldly than men and this is an underhanded way to ensure she’s a cheap date!
And another one. Alimony — bounty on the mutiny.
HAHA, WOMEN CAN’T MAKE A LIVING OR GET CREDIT WITHOUT A MAN IN 1960. IT IS SO FUNNY.
I talked to Bev yesterday. She said she going home for the weekend. Some people have all the luck. I’ll never last through next semester.
How could you with a maid in the dorm and frequent trips home?
I found out when my semester exams are scheduled. I’ve got one the morning of Jan. 20, one the morning of Jan. 25, and one the evening of Jan. 25. I register on Feb. 7 at 2:00 p.m. Therefore, I can take a train home the morning of the 26th and return on the 7th of February, a total of 12 days vacation. Do you know what your exam schedule is yet? The time between semesters is always more enjoyable because one has absolutely nothing to worry about as far as school is concerned. No classes at all to study for. Only trouble is that when I’m home, nobody else is. Either, the between-semester break doesn’t coincide, or, at most, they’re home only a fraction of the time that I’m home. But it’s still better than school.
Russ is so bad at college.
Our spring vacation also runs from 5:00 p.m. Wednesday, March 29 to 8:00 a.m. Tuesday, April 4, which is my birthday. Therefore, no classes on Tuesday morning, which is usually the case anyway. I might even take the whole day off. If Washington’s birthday can be a national holiday, then my birthday can be a personal holiday.
Having a birthday in the beginning of April isn’t bad, though. I generally get to be home for it since spring vacation generally falls around that time. Maybe I can talk the university administration into making it a University holiday.
I know he’s joking but if a Millennial or younger said that, it would be evidence of their narcissism. Heh.
My major problem right now is that I’m lonely, depressed, and otherwise generally unhappy. That is a hard thing to fight. This is what generally happens late at night and it is late at night right now. And this is when the desire to see you becomes strongest. My mood is probably a result of the fact that I can’t see you. No, not probably, definitely.
Studying is a dull routine.
Why don’t you come to Illinois next semester? Housing would be no problem because of the vacancies left by drop-outs. Just grasping at straws — but it would be great. Oh, well.
I’ve read a few letters ahead and this is hilarious foreshadowing.
I’ll have to close now. I don’t want to, but this letter is getting me no place, fast. You’ll begin to think I’ve terminated my membership in the human race, which is no exaggeration. Maybe I can sleep it off.
Auf wiedersehen, sweetheart, Be good and sweet dreams. Take real good care of yourself and remember that I miss you.
Love and Kisses,