Sunday, August 20, 1944
Just another quiet, boring Sunday. Church services are being broadcast over the P.A. system. The chaplain sounds like a Swiss yodeler. He’s built like a mountain, too. One of the fellows from upstairs came in last night very drunk. At times I thought he was putting on, but I’m not sure. He headed for the open doorway, on his crutches, and plowed into the wall instead, and said “Damn it, there’s supposed to be a door here!” Up on his feet and crutches again he got halfway thru the doorway when suddenly he goes sprawling all over the floor. He came up laughing. “Who pushed the door on me? After a few more falls, he finally went to bed. Such things we have to put (up) with!
I’m working on the belt, ship model, reading Pitcairn’s Island (by Nordhoff and Hall), writing letters, resting and eating. Even though it sounds full, I can’t do one for a long stretch of time and have to rest both my arms and eyes often.
I just made another knot on the belt. It’s coming along slowly but surely. I started carving one of the end blocks of my new ship model.
Well I can’t think of anything else,