I miss Charles tremendously. I write to him every day, though I don’t include the letters in my diary entries. There’s something wrong, I think, in copying private letters. A poem is one thing, but a letter is another entirely. However, I will say, in the fewest possible words, that Charles is doing fine.

I had another dream, and I have a knot in my stomach just in recalling it. The only part I can remember, and so the only part worth remembering, I suppose, was that my teeth were loose. All of them. A few in the front even began to fall out. This is not the kind of dream I was asking for, little book, and I doubt I’ll ever fall asleep again.

Today, the 22nd of September, has been peaceful, despite my restless rest, which gave me some relief from my dream. After checking for my front teeth, I took up my usual watch in the front trenches. It’s been said among my companymen that the trenches reach all the way to the sea, uninterrupted. 600 kilometers or more of continuous trench, all connected now. I thought about this as I sat listening for the Germans. They never came. Still there is no German advance. I have to imagine a young Prussian man sitting across the river, writing in a diary and listening for the French advance. I’m not sure if it will ever come. I’m beginning to suspect the same of theirs. One day soon, maybe, but today was peaceful.

I try not to hoard any extra pride on me, but on days like today it becomes a much harder task. I read back my poem, Pink, and I’m glad to say I’m immensely proud of it. I was never an artist in my youth, so this is quite the revelation for me, especially after having never written a poem in my entire life. I’ll dispose of the pride for now, I already feel sick with it.

One of the other watchmen, a fellow farmer by the unusual name of Balthazar, sat beside me most of the afternoon. He didn’t get to tell me his last name before I stopped him and asked him to repeat it for me, to which he confirmed his legal birth name was indeed Balthazar. He tells me the name is Akkadian. I can’t say I’d ever heard of the Akkadians, but I can assure you there is no excuse for inventing such a name, even if they were as ancient as Balthazar says they are. It is with great pleasure that I write now as a general expert in the life and times of ancient Mesopotamia, in so far as we are able to know in the modern day. There is much to be learned in a war, most important of all being the transfer of the primary language of the region from Sumerian to Akkadian in the 24th century BC. I have no doubt that such knowledge is the key to winning the war and to having true peace in our time.

I’m being too hard on poor Balthazar, but that conversation was so full I feel obligated to scrounge some amount of enjoyment out of it.

I spent all day looking over my shoulder, waiting for John Ashcroft the pug to slink over to me, but to my surprise he never did. I’m not sure what’s worse, the idea of Ashcroft showing up, or the fact that he hasn’t yet. I fear his plan, whatever it may be, is working, but I fear most of all that Ashcroft doesn’t have a plan at all. Little book, let me have another dream tonight. A good dream. The kind of dream that will let me forget about today, at least until tomorrow.