And so it was, our unhappy fears were confirmed; when Daddy did the stove the following morning the clip used for fastening was found among the ashes. Not a trace of the gold nib was found. "Must have melted and stuck to some stone or other," Daddy thought.
I have one consolation, although a slender one: my fountain pen was cremated, just what I want later!
November 11, 1943
Still not out of loserville. Can't deny, can't euphemize. My wife remarked how strange it was that being down was a comfort zone. I've failed so many times. This fact has been a source of anxiety, vanity, and drive. Yet this new experience: to fail as a family. I don't know how to wrap my head around it yet. Even the kid is down! Anyway, I'll meet my classes tomorrow. I'll devote this night to prepping. But if I screw tomorrow up as well, I would not be surprised. That's why it's a comfort zone: when you're down you can humiliate yourself with a straight face. God help my students.