Every Friday I send out a real love letter that I’ve transcribed from a stack I bought at the flea market (until they run out — and we’re getting closer all the time). Missed one? Check the chronological list.
November 1, 1961 (21 days)
Dearest Kay,
I am waiting to hear “words of wisdom” through the co-operative efforts of Plato (who haunts his descendants) and Mr. Stevens, my philosophy instructor (who will ultimately haunt someone), the latter and sole harbinger of their combined “truths” has not yet arrived and the class is waiting around. He’s late so far as I can tell. Maybe he won’t even show up, which is fine because then I can go home and study the book and the exam may be postponed one week, and I’ll be happy.
This week has been long so far, and it’s only half gone. Maybe it’s because I feel dull, just plain dull. Something like spring fever only uninspired. Monday, I did not feel this way, but about 9 a.m. Tuesday morning when I had awakened enough to realize it, I felt dull — blah — de-energized.
Maybe if you were around — but there’s no sense in pursuing a dream in the face of reality. At least not right now. I really looked forward to writing this letter. Aside from that, I felt like going home and studying (that is to say, studying was the thing I disliked least). But this “class meeting” was supposed to cover that part of The Republic which treats on the “allegory of the cave” and a few other essentials for the exam next week, and besides it’s not a good idea to cut before an exam, which instructors look upon (the cut) as the wrong attitude and grade your exam like you were getting a doctorate on the basis of said exam. It’s not a good habit to get into either. All in all, it was better that I came but it doesn’t look like it much matters.
Maybe my watch is wrong. At 7 p.m., I leave. Which would be 40 mins after class seems to be getting into the spirit of something. Every time someone walks down the hall — silence until they pass — and then joyous resumption of entirely non-philosophic discussion.
The worst has happened — he came. But then again — what is to be expected.
He jumps right into the next day…
Nov. 2, 1961 (20 days)
My mother gave me your card after you called (the one postmarked Oct. 29). And a belated Happy Halloween to you! I thought it was supposed to be October 30, but even that date slipped my mind, especially when the little extortionists didn’t appear.
I’m pretty sure he made the same mistake last year, but I’m not going to look it up.
We fed them chocolate caramels laced with cyanide Tuesday night when they did come. Very humane — fast, painless. We gave them the trick!
Like Hitchcock in 1936.
Really, Halloween wasn’t bad this year. Very little trouble. The kids in the neighborhood are growing up. They’re also getting too lazy to put on costumes. Costumes are beginning to be considered “not cool” by the new generation. Tuesday was a nice night, too. Maybe “trick or treat” isn’t profitable anymore. I’ll never know. I suppose, but then I don’t really care.
Not a Halloween guy! And it’s amusing that people have been complaining about the lack of costumes on kids since *at least* 1961.
More psychology tonight. I am not psychologically oriented toward psychology today. I had a pornographic dream last night, or rather early this morning. It was a frustrated dream, which is to say, not even in my dreams do I get anywhere, anymore.
Hey now!
I think I’ve become too inhibited because that’s what I was doing in the dream, rationally inhibited what was not only desirable but at that moment quite possible and encouraged — rational dreams, wow. Sometimes a fella just can’t win.
Deeply intrigued, completely ruined this letter by being vague.
Which is the way the whole week has gone, except for your calls. They have come at good times, Without them — depression. Although you did catch me by surprise Thursday night. Unexpected but highly appreciated.
I think I will close this letter and start a new one at school. That way I can mail out at least this much before tomorrow. I really should study psych, which I have neglected too much.
Meanwhile, darling, sleep tight, sweet dreams, and take real good care of yourself.
Love, Love, Love,
Ad infinitum,
Tiger
Our timelines are kind of magically aligned just now! I love it.
If you made it this far, please be sure to smash that ❤️ like button.
TMI, Tiger! You can’t just pop that dream stuff in there like that! It’s 1961!