31 Oct. 1945
Darling Chippie,
For want of something better to do this evening, I went to the movies to see - don't faint now - “20 Million Sweethearts” with Dick Powell, Ginger Rogers and Pat O'Brien. What, you never heard of it? Well, I'm not surprised. It's only eleven
years old. Let's see, you were only about twelve back in 1934 when it first showed. I remember I enjoyed it then, but tonight it seemed cornier than hell. The acting was hammy to the point of being sickening. Dick Powell mugged all over the place, and Ginger Rogers looked harder than nails. What waste of time!
There was no mail from you today. Seems like I'm only getting one letter a week these days. It's not entirely the fault of the APO either, cause I noted you only wrote two letters between 10th and 18th Oct. You can do better than that, baby, I know. I know, too, that writing is become an increasingly difficult chore for you, but it's very difficult for for me to wait for a week for a letter, too, so I’m askIng you, darling, pretty please, to write at least every other day.
Nothing new broke around here today, but 8th Fighter Command is supposed to let us know what cooks by this week-end. Maybe I'll have some really good news for you then, honey. I certainly hope so; this “sweating” without anything happening is getting on my nerves—but proper! Sometimes it’s like I’ve been here all my life and am destined to stay here for the rest of it. I'm trying so hard to be patient, but there's a limit, dammit!—Never in my life have I felt myself so powerless to help myself. It's a lousy, humiliating feeling and I'm yearning to be rid of it.
Read in today's S+S about a Phila. woman who fell or jumped out of a seventh-floor window downtowns, landing on another and killing her, too. The name of the woman who fell is set down as Mrs. Rose C. Ostroff. I was wondering if it might not have been our fire-insurance agent, who, if I remember correctly, spelled her name Ostrow, and I'm almost sure her first name was Rose.
Today was pay-day. I'm flush again, but that doesn't keep me from feeling low. I want to go home, Ev, and I just won't feel good again until I realize that wish. I love you so much, my darling. My love to Adele - and all.
Forever,
Your Phil
