That’s all I’m going to tell about. I could probably tell you what I did after I went
home, and how I got sick and all, and what school I’m supposed to go to next fall, after I
get out of here, but I don’t feel like it. I really don’t. That stuff doesn’t interest me too
much right now.
A lot of people, especially this one psychoanalyst guy they have here, keeps
asking me if I’m going apply myself when I go back to school next September. It’s such a
stupid question, in my opinion. I mean how do you know what you’re going to do till you
do it? The answer is, you don’t. I think I am, but how do I know? I swear it’s a stupid
question.
D.B. isn’t as bad as the rest of them, but he keeps asking me a lot of questions,
too. He drove over last Saturday with this English babe that’s in this new picture he’s
writing. She was pretty affected, but very good-looking. Anyway, one time when she
went to the ladies’ room way the hell down in the other wing D.B. asked me what I
thought about all this stuff I just finished telling you about. I didn’t know what the hell to
say. If you want to know the truth, I don’t know what I think about it. I’m sorry I told so
many people about it. About all I know is, I sort of miss everybody I told about. Even old
Stradlater and Ackley, for instance. I think I even miss that goddam Maurice. It’s funny.
Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.