4. Thursday.

                                    

                                          
2016/01/21 Thursday

                          
Update on the people following and reading my blog: As of this morning 17 people have skimmed through my blog and 5 people have thought it was interesting enough to follow. This means that I have 2 new followers of my blog and I hope, for my sake, that you realize at one point that it's absolutely completely useless and you just leave. 
                          
I was going to post on Sunday as if to keep a pattern going but I decided that I didn't have enough to post and it would be a waste of time if I made a blog post that was only 1,000 words long instead of the usual 2,00 because that would simply be disgraceful. 
                          
But here's what's happened between Friday's post and today's post: Mr Bowie hasn't missed any of the lessons and we finished another physics chapter. The Boy in Striped Pajamas hasn't changed one little bit since I last posted about it, and I would know seeing as I reread it another 7 times since Friday. I've discovered a band called Mindless Self Indulgence and their music is mostly annoying but it helps for headaches. 
                          
I spent today trying to smoothly move from my bed to my chair and, after the first attempt when I landed on the floor, trying to move smoothly from the floor to my chair. But the floor was slippery, my arms got tired and the chair kept moving away from me faster than I could move closer to it. Almost like the universe simply didn't want me to be able to get into the chair. 
                          
And after a long time of trying (I didn't know how long because I couldn't reach my phone from the floor) I gave up and read The Boy in Striped Pajamas from the discomfort of my wooden floor and when that got boring, I started looking at the pictures Pete had taken of me because I had nothing else to do and I was using one as a bookmark. 
                          
I looked kind of awkward in all of them, staring into space like there was something interesting on the other side of the room and if I was doing an artwork analysis Mr Bowie would shout at me if I didn't say the man looking to side creates movement because it draws the viewers eyes to the left side of the image. 
                          
But all the same, I liked them because you couldn't see the wheel chair and you couldn't see my Useless Logs of Fat™ or my knobby, awkward knees that looked worse when I was sitting down. My hair was still messy and indecisive, torn between being put down flat and being spiked up. On account of the fact that i hadn't brushed my hair and that everybody had patted my head. 
                          
It was like I was a dog the way everybody patted my head like being in a wheelchair was somehow an invite for everybody to pat my head even though I really hated it when people patted my head or even touched my hair. 
                          
The flash from the camera didn't make me look any better either because it made all of the sweaty, wet bits of my face shine like there was a giant light on me. It made me look sick and sweaty and just overall disgusting. Except for the part where I just looked like I had the flu.
                          
I liked it because, even though I looked sick, I didn't look sick enough to be in a wheelchair which was an overall improvement of what I usually looked like on account of the fact that I looked skinnier than anybody else my age and also that I couldn't stand or do anything with my Useless Logs of Fat™. 
                          
My nose was sort of red and it was really easy to tell that I was cold and still angry with Frank because my arms were crossed tightly over my chest and my hands were tucked under my armpits. If I tried hard enough, I could even hear myself sniffing. I looked stubborn and cold and upset and I was all of those things at the time. 
                          
But I liked it because I wasn't wearing Frank's gloves. And I wasn't in a wheel chair. And I didn't look as awkward as I would have if my legs had been in the picture. And I don't know how long I spent doing an artwork analysis on myself, but I ended up staring at a photograph of myself until Gerard came room.