Every Friday I send out a real love letter that I’ve transcribed from a stack I bought at the flea market. Missed one? Check the chronological list.
If love letters aren’t your thing, don’t fret. More View-Master and related content is coming soon!
Hey, guess who scheduled this for Saturday instead of Friday? It’s me, I’m the problem.
January 18, 1961
Dearest Kay,
I am writing this while, as Nelson put it, “rubbing elbows with the common folk” in the canteen. We had to sit, for lack of anywhere else, in a spot most disadvantageous for doing anything — right where everybody coming through the line must pass.
Every Wednesday night there is an informal dance held up here, and this is Wednesday night. The dance is over, but very few people have left yet. Consequently, the place is packed, and we are sitting just off of the most traveled spot. Very annoying. But, nevertheless, the best thing we can do under the circumstances.
I think I finally figured out that MRH, where he lives, is simply Men’s Residence Hall. I got some background on the campus here.
Fortunately, I was able to change the side of the table, which helps considerably because everybody coming through the line does not give me the feeling of looking over my shoulder. I still feel watched. No doubt somebody is looking at me — and wondering.
Yes, we’re all staring at you because your paranoia has little to do with your “nervous” conditions.
My physics instructor won’t cooperate. Another happy thought. My math instructor is the happy boy in the math dept. that gave out 37 E’s and three D’s last semester in the same course. And unless I’ve misinterpreted his comments this semester, he’s back for a return show. Why, why, why. Out of the thousands of math instructors I get him.
That sounds insane to me, but I do remember in high school there were some teachers who just didn’t seem to believe in As. Grade inflation is real, maybe?
Enough excuses. That will do no good. I try not to think about anything except “bombing” my finale. That is going to be my only hope.
Does “bombing” mean doing well in 1961?
Enough about school, except — chances of my being at home next semester have gone to about 9 from 1. Actually, chances of my being down here are pretty slim. Living at home has many advantages.
I may even be a working man next spring. That also has its advantages. Principally — money and a chance to recuperate my sad nervous system. Then I would go to night school. Mostly, though, I could relax enough to rid myself once and for all of this colitis. It bothers me constantly now, primarily due to finals, I suppose, but not entirely.
It’s true. Stress and colitis and linked. I hope it doesn’t stress him out that a bunch of people on the internet are reading about his colitis.
Getting back to staying. The only thing that will necessitate my going here next semester is if, assuming I petition in, there is time to swing Navy Pier. [Russ previously noted he wanted to take some classes at the Navy Pier extension campus that existed in the early 1960s.] Frankly, I don’t think going here will do me any good because a repeat of the problems I faced this semester will only result. My courses won’t be as eternally bad as this semester, but they won’t be easy and I’ll be on terminal probation (possibly) and there will be nothing to offset the pressure. And I’ve got to get out of MRH. I’m basically gregarious and as my advisor observed, the people in MRH are almost anti-social. Many are definitely so.
Wait a minute. Am I being expected to believe that Russ — the man who famously dislikes literally everything except living with his parents and his girlfriend — is actually a “gregarious” person?
They come to MRH to get lost in the crowd and left alone because MRH is the best place to do this because It is so big. There the atmosphere is given impetus toward isolationism by a large number of residents. From my experience. Obviously, I got started down here on the wrong foot, but it’s taken 3 semesters to realize this. Maybe I’m fortunate. Some people, like my room-mate, never realize this and fight it all through college, beating (?) the percentage in a myriad of easy ways out.
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Do I sound rational?
More so than earlier letters but still. Gregarious? Nope.
I don’t know just how much my reasons and reasoning is being affected by my present situation. I’m no longer able to analyze my motives and determine whether they are escapism or valid facts.
Who knew he could be so self-aware!?
An impossible situation. Assuming my analysis is biased, then the analysis of the bias is biased — but how much and just how much does the bias affect the analysis of bias. Now that is double-talk if ever there was double-talk. Not really a problem anyway. But I am faced with decisions of the future and am afraid to be wrong — understandably.
What do I sound like to you? You have the distinct advantage of objectivity.
Is anyone truly objective? Anyway, where do I start? I’d say you sound stressed, and you are probably neurodivergent as we’d say these days.
I’d better quit while I’m ahead. I’ll have plenty of time come Jan. 26, and we’ll be able to talk in person. Right now, what comes between now and January 26 requires attention. Only 8 days (7½ to be precise). Sounds great.
Philosophically speaking, — a lot will transpire between now and then.
Sweetheart, I miss you, miss, miss you. And now everything I want to say, I want to say in person and at great length.
No one expects you to be brief, buddy.
Well, I guess I’d never make a poet. Each one of these sentences in this paragraph has been preceded by several minutes of confused thought. I’m even a failure at this. I could say all manner of trite things, but this is not my idea of true sincerity — that is, when trite phrases are used exclusively. Well-worn sayings are often quite true, but then well-worn phrases are not trite in the true sense of trite. More double-talk.
Have you read about any good murders lately?
Yes, lots of them because murder podcasts are a key hobby in 2023. Weird non sequitur though.
Trying to change the subject is what I’m trying to do. I hope to let my subconscious mull over the previous pleasant subject longer and maybe come up with some words which fit the thought.
Listen, the rest of the letter is insanely long and super weird, so I’m gonna break this one up into two parts in order to fit in your inbox!
If you got this far, “smash” that 👍 LIKE button.