Kathy to Hilary, March 21, 1973, cont., Tehran, Iran Anything else to be said? Please write back. I’m not homesick but I’m very very lonely because all I have are acquaintances who wouldn’t care for my depressions and Johnny tends to the moody too. What a pair we are. Not that you care for my blues but at least you’re fairly used to them.
I’m really sorry about all this. Maybe, when I write again, I’ll be on the manic side of my manic depression. Unbecoming self-pity, but, oh well, as always.
March 31
APOLOGY
Please excuse for dishonorable moanings of weak heart. Is better now.
Really! I can’t believe all those self-pitying words, and I have half a mind not to send them, but I’m too lazy to write another letter. Five days until school starts and I really dread it, for I’ve done absolutely nothing, nothing but moan and cry and reread a few trashy novels. I ought to clean out the guinea pig and rat cages because they stink. It has the advantage, however, of discouraging parents and sisters from invading my room.
Steve and Dad have gotten back from Germany. We still don’t know what the matter is with Steve’s arm—it is one of three things: fibrous displasia (displeasure), a unicameral cyst, or something else. Dad has decided to stay in the Army so that the Army will pay for fixing Steve up. So far they’ve had several hundred dollars’ worth of X-rays taken and if we were in the civilian world we would certainly be impoverished by now, and there’s still a lot of work to be done.
My father’s staying in the army means that we’ll be going back to the States this summer, maybe to New Jersey, maybe to Arizona, and maybe, God Forbid, to Texas. Y’Allah! This screws up all my plans, but t hat doesn’t matter too much as they weren’t very definite. We all have to get used to change if we are to survive.
5:24:00 AM 
|
|
