6th of June, 1944

It’s possible I said something I shouldn’t have to Dr. Danielewski. Two hours ago, one of the colonel’s staff flunkies handed me a telegraph. I’ve been reassigned to another division, something I’ve never heard of. The 55^th. No reason why, no description of my new position, just orders to be on the tarmac an hour from now for my flight to the UK. Coming two days after my last psych evaluation, I doubt it’s coincidence. That four-eyed malcontent has been trying to get me discharged since the first time I sat on his couch and called him a fraud. “Tell me how you feel, and be honest,” he said, but in retrospect I don’t think he really meant it.

I’m not sure what it is I said that finally gave him the leverage to get rid of me. Since our first encounter, I’ve tried not to give him more ammunition, but Danielewski always did have a knack for making the most innocent comments sound profane. Tell him, “I like carrots,” and he’ll tell your commanding officer you have penis envy. But of course, I’m not really being honest here. I know full well what it is that I shouldn’t have confessed.

No matter. No sense fretting over what’s done. My bags are packed. I’ve never been to England before. I hear the weather’s awful, but at least the people “speak American.” I mailed one last postcard home. I didn’t know what to write. I never know what to write. Nothing about my new assignment, of course. Nothing about my old assignment, for that matter. I wrote, “I love you.” I wrote, “I miss you.” I wrote, “I am happy.” Two out of three lies, I actually felt bad about. That’s one little insight I won't have to worry about hiding from Danielewski.