Thursday
I am so mad at everything today. I feel like throwing everything around and shouting, but the truth is that nobody would notice, and I'd be the one clearing up at the end of it all, so it isn't worth it. I got up today, and my mum was still home. I got my breakfast together, and she didn't even look up. No "Morning honey" or "Hi sweetie" or even "Do you want a lift". Even a grunt or a slight twitch of the face to show my presence was noted would have been fine. But no, nothing. I felt really mad, and so I suddenly blurted out "How are you today mother". The word mother seemed so alien coming from my lips, and my whole sentence seemed to hang in the air, waiting for an answer. None came. She picked up her things and walked out the door. Oh well, at least I tried. I trudged along the road towards school in the rain, and I could tell by the cloud that it was going to stay like this for most of the day. I went straight to Mr Duval's house, and looked in through the window. Some might say that it is wrong to look through the window of a teacher, and probably most of the people at school would say I was in love with him, but I think his house is interesting. He has loads of wacky things like milk bottle collections and wide fans and all sorts of maps everywhere. Nobody seeing Mr Duval in his stiff suit with his stiff personality would place him in the house, with its freeness and interesting air, but he really does live there. And I must be the only one in the school who has seen him sit meditating in a cotton throw with three friends every evening. Today he was feeding his three cats, which I named William, Mary and Elizabeth, as I guessed that a history teacher would be likely to do the same. He didn't just put the food down like a normal person, but he sort of 'danced' them to the floor, with weird hops and skips and twisty arms. I drew a few sketches of him before leaving and trudging up the road to school. I had Mr Doherty again, and again the class was noisy and disruptive. Mr Doherty tried in vain to teach the class, first the subject, then anything he could. With a sick feeling I noticed that a few of the guys from the lake the other day were in my class, and they sure as hell noticed me. One of them got up and walked towards me, and started leering something about getting me impregnated. I was really scared, and he kept walking towards me, when suddenly he fell. Nobody but me noticed the boot that had stuck out to make him fall, and so it was only me who looked up as the guy went back to his seat, and connected the boot with the same scruffy guy who had stared at me the day before. I mouthed 'thanks', but he just stared for a second, before pointing his fingers at me, like the barrel of a gun. Slightly dazed, I did the same back, but he had already turned away. The rest of the lessons dragged by, before I could get to the art room at lunch time. Mr Newman took me by the shoulders when I entered the room and guided me to his desk. I stood and waited patiently whilst he rooted among the disorganised clutter, before he handed me a small metal tin. Inside where a collection of charcoals and dark colours. "I think you are ready for them, and they could help with your style of drawing" he said by way of explanation. I knew how prized his art equipments were, as he was always complaining about budget cuts, so I tried to give them back, but he wouldn't let me. "Use the force" he said with a smile, before disappearing into the cupboard. I looked around for a while to find something to draw with these new tools, before finding a picture of a bridge. It was broken down, and covered in a wintry glow. That was to be my next picture. I memorised it, and then drew a few sketches. I decided to get it perfect, so that I could show Mr Newman that his faith in me wasn't unfounded. The rest of the day went by quickly. I didn't do any actual work, just worked on my art, but nobody noticed. I left quickly, but to my dismay the drizzle of the morning had turned almost torrential. There was no use going to any houses, as all the curtains would be drawn, and the rain would ruin my sketchpad anyway. The rest of my day ruined, I went home. I made myself a tomato and mayonnaise sandwich and took it to my room, not even bothering talking to my mum. As I sat in my room, I thought of how it would be nice to have a friend, so that I could tell them all about my day. I imagined that they would find the same things funny as me, and I could take them on my drawing route. It's silly though, inventing people. It's what people laugh at you about, and why I got sent to the guidance councillor at school. He is really stupid, sitting there telling me "It's not healthy to spend so much time on your own, so much time drawing". What does he know? He's never been me. I played my favourite prince record for a bit, before doing my homework. I thought I may as well. I then spent a while doing sketches of the things in my room – a pot plant, my desk. I went to bed finally, because I was bored, rather than actually being tired.
I am so mad at everything today. I feel like throwing everything around and shouting, but the truth is that nobody would notice, and I'd be the one clearing up at the end of it all, so it isn't worth it. I got up today, and my mum was still home. I got my breakfast together, and she didn't even look up. No "Morning honey" or "Hi sweetie" or even "Do you want a lift". Even a grunt or a slight twitch of the face to show my presence was noted would have been fine. But no, nothing. I felt really mad, and so I suddenly blurted out "How are you today mother". The word mother seemed so alien coming from my lips, and my whole sentence seemed to hang in the air, waiting for an answer. None came. She picked up her things and walked out the door. Oh well, at least I tried. I trudged along the road towards school in the rain, and I could tell by the cloud that it was going to stay like this for most of the day. I went straight to Mr Duval's house, and looked in through the window. Some might say that it is wrong to look through the window of a teacher, and probably most of the people at school would say I was in love with him, but I think his house is interesting. He has loads of wacky things like milk bottle collections and wide fans and all sorts of maps everywhere. Nobody seeing Mr Duval in his stiff suit with his stiff personality would place him in the house, with its freeness and interesting air, but he really does live there. And I must be the only one in the school who has seen him sit meditating in a cotton throw with three friends every evening. Today he was feeding his three cats, which I named William, Mary and Elizabeth, as I guessed that a history teacher would be likely to do the same. He didn't just put the food down like a normal person, but he sort of 'danced' them to the floor, with weird hops and skips and twisty arms. I drew a few sketches of him before leaving and trudging up the road to school. I had Mr Doherty again, and again the class was noisy and disruptive. Mr Doherty tried in vain to teach the class, first the subject, then anything he could. With a sick feeling I noticed that a few of the guys from the lake the other day were in my class, and they sure as hell noticed me. One of them got up and walked towards me, and started leering something about getting me impregnated. I was really scared, and he kept walking towards me, when suddenly he fell. Nobody but me noticed the boot that had stuck out to make him fall, and so it was only me who looked up as the guy went back to his seat, and connected the boot with the same scruffy guy who had stared at me the day before. I mouthed 'thanks', but he just stared for a second, before pointing his fingers at me, like the barrel of a gun. Slightly dazed, I did the same back, but he had already turned away. The rest of the lessons dragged by, before I could get to the art room at lunch time. Mr Newman took me by the shoulders when I entered the room and guided me to his desk. I stood and waited patiently whilst he rooted among the disorganised clutter, before he handed me a small metal tin. Inside where a collection of charcoals and dark colours. "I think you are ready for them, and they could help with your style of drawing" he said by way of explanation. I knew how prized his art equipments were, as he was always complaining about budget cuts, so I tried to give them back, but he wouldn't let me. "Use the force" he said with a smile, before disappearing into the cupboard. I looked around for a while to find something to draw with these new tools, before finding a picture of a bridge. It was broken down, and covered in a wintry glow. That was to be my next picture. I memorised it, and then drew a few sketches. I decided to get it perfect, so that I could show Mr Newman that his faith in me wasn't unfounded. The rest of the day went by quickly. I didn't do any actual work, just worked on my art, but nobody noticed. I left quickly, but to my dismay the drizzle of the morning had turned almost torrential. There was no use going to any houses, as all the curtains would be drawn, and the rain would ruin my sketchpad anyway. The rest of my day ruined, I went home. I made myself a tomato and mayonnaise sandwich and took it to my room, not even bothering talking to my mum. As I sat in my room, I thought of how it would be nice to have a friend, so that I could tell them all about my day. I imagined that they would find the same things funny as me, and I could take them on my drawing route. It's silly though, inventing people. It's what people laugh at you about, and why I got sent to the guidance councillor at school. He is really stupid, sitting there telling me "It's not healthy to spend so much time on your own, so much time drawing". What does he know? He's never been me. I played my favourite prince record for a bit, before doing my homework. I thought I may as well. I then spent a while doing sketches of the things in my room – a pot plant, my desk. I went to bed finally, because I was bored, rather than actually being tired.