1. Still alive. It was a beastly week. i have a new student, a pretty Polack wench, a fashion consultant who speaks Polish, German, Russian, and almost no English. McLingua recommended the Cornelsen Sales & Purchasing book, for which one would have to be B2 i think – she is A1, an almost total beginner. She is keen but seems to totally lack any relevant study habits. i try to drill her; none of it sinks in. Even after hours she’ll still saying shit like: “I learning English! I muss! To job!”

i teach her in the evenings, which means i have to wrestle with her grammar until 9 pm. Getting home around 10 pm, waking at 6 am the next morning, etc., etc., dreams of death and being fired, exhaustion, no time to do laundry, shopping, do anything except teach.

2. In addition, i lost my space pen. This is an enormous trauma. i realised i’d left it at McLingua and called reception to ask them to see if it was lying about. No luck. Even though only an hour had passed, it had already been stolen.

i feel quite irritated and depressed. Partly, it’s just money – that i spent about 250 Euros going to France to nearly die, lost the 200 Euro plane tickets i booked for a cancelled flight to England in June, and am waiting for a 10,000,000,000 Euro bill for my hospitalisation; and now i’ve lost a relatively expensive pen.

i suppose, using it every day, and every day admiring its craftsmanship, being glad i’d bought it, it is inevitable i would feel its loss. i can of course buy another, presumably identical. But i don’t want to. After writing thousands of words with this one, i don’t want one which looks exactly the same. It would be like, after accidentally leaving your wife in Bradford, you go to her funeral, feel sad, then buy a lookalike in a slave market. It would be better to be single forever, rather than pretend you could ever replace such a treasure.

It’s also the thought of another teacher, no doubt some 20-year-old American, seeing a pen and immediately pocketing it, then probably leaving it in a company or throwing it away or inserting it into his orifices. If it were stolen by someone who would appreciate and value it, i wouldn’t be so depressed, i might even be mordantly satisfied. But it will now belong to some subhuman chump who can’t read or write. Perhaps he won’t even know exactly what it is and will use it to get high. This is not the purpose for which my space pen was intended.

3. My classes have been strange of late, as i lack the will to really teach anything at all. i just turn up and if the students are willing, chat and then go home. This is a bad idea. They will accept it for a lesson or two, and some like it all the time; but sooner or later they will complain that i don’t do any grammar (not that there’s any point doing any).

Even when i force myself to prepare, something goes wrong. For example, two classes just didn’t turn up, and in several others only one student has come (so i abandoned my lesson plans). i feel that something has come undone in my life, my routines, and everything is shearing away, entire sections of my life unravelling.

With the Kurgan this morning, he said “meaning” instead of “opinion” about 6 times in 90 minutes (in Bosche, meinung means opinion), thus: “They say, hey Kurgan, you have the meaning only you are right and I say no, you have your meaning.” The first two times i ignored, then i stirred from my early morning lethargy and corrected him – about four times in 90 minutes, for the same simple error. i see no point even trying to teach.

4. i pray for a release from this life. i feel there should be a trap door i can open, to get out.