and i'm standing on air with nothing holding me
2003-03-03 || 6:10 p.m.

I don't really know what I want to write in here today so I think I'll just start and see how it goes.

It's exceptionally hard to concentrate when Andrew WK is blaring out from the TV, I have to say.

So it was good to see the kids again although I'd almost lost my voice by the end of the day. Where's St Blaise decked out in frock and candles, when you need him, dammit?

I spent the whole day being super reassuring towards my new boy. He had such a rocky start last half term. He smiled a lot which was nice and helped me with stuff without me asking. I just kept telling him what a great kid he was and how helpful he was and I bet he helped his mum during half-term etc. I had my usual relaxed attitude in the classroom and let them tell me jokes instead of saying 'yes Miss Vincent' when I call the register. I wonder what OFSTED will think of that when they inspect? But really I don't give a flying fuck what they think. I just don't. It's all bollocks. What matters is a love for learning, progress within their own capabilities and being fucking happy. George made an astoundingly high tower with the soft toys in the library and Liam will go into construction judging by the walls he builds with pencil cases.

And one thing I hate is looking at them and being reminded of myself at that age because I don't think I'd lost my hope quite then. But maybe I had. I was certainly fucking miserable. I remember crying myself to sleep at night. I remember lying in bed feeling the skin on my cheeks and wondering what it would feel like to someone else to touch.

And then this evening we had a staff meeting. We had been told it was problem solving in numeracy so me and Helen sat together in the hope we could make up stupid problems like, 'a milkman delivers crates that hold 8 bottles of milk. He delivers to 6 roads and has 10 crates left at the end of his delivery. Is he having an affair with the woman at No.26?'

But that had been changed and I've no clue what the meeting was actually about. All I remember is the woman running it saying to me 'so can you tell me something about target setting and assessment in literacy?' and I replied 'no, not really'.

There was a horrified silence.

I thought what I really wanted to say was, 'no, not really. I don't give a toss about it. I have no clue what you are talking about. Fuck me up the arse with a red hot poker can't you see I don't actually want to live? No I don't feel fine, I know assessment matters but I do it all the time, its fucking innate. I don't want another piece of paper to fill in, what I want is to die, now, slowly, quickly, at my own hands, murdered - I'm not fucking fussy. I'm an abject failure, I cannot speak in words of more than one syllable and you should not let me loose near children because I have lost the will to live and if that's contagious I truly will despise myself.'

So all in all I think they got off quite lightly.

Then I became mesmerised by Simon's hands. Men's hands are beautiful and he has particularly nice hands. He's pretty fanciable all round but I'm almost certain he's gay. Another of nature's blinding practical jokes. Mother nature is a bit of a bitch really. I only ever fancy men who turn out to be gay. It's true. Jesus.

And then I looked at Maria and I felt bad that we all laugh at her and I thought what right have I got to pass judgement on her and say she is wrong. Someone loves her. Someone holds her close at night and cares for her. So who's the loser? Who would ever hold me close, love me or care for me? The truth is, no-one.

And then I wanted to write on Helen's sheet of paper 'WHAT A PILE OF WANK.' But there were only 8 people sitting round the table and I thought it would be maybe a bit noticeable. So I wondered why any of us really bother going to school.

And when I was teaching history this afternoon and we were talking about how to recognise the houses of the Tudor rich and poor I was trying to get them to remember glass and how it was expensive at first so I leaned right against the large windows and I thought how funny it would be if the pane just gave and I fell out. And I don't think they believe me that glass is a liquid not a solid but they'd sure as hell believe me if I just slipped straight through it.

And what I could say now is that I see my life slipping through my fingers but I have no life to slip anywhere. So I just want to close my eyes. I don't want to slip anywhere else at all, I just want to not be. Not be. Not ever again. Because I'm just a brain controlling a body and this emptiness it tastes really bad.