Sometimes I feel like some ooky teenager. I feel unimportant and lost, and that makes it pretty hard to do much of anything. The funny thing is, I don’t really like attention. On Sunday, a lot of people asked about my cane, and I kept wishing there was a shorter explanation. I almost wished I had a disease with a brief name. One lady, who walks with a limp, confessed that although her limp is not associated with pain, she finds it easy to sympathise with people who do have painful ailments. That one made my day, but most of the time, I just felt awkward.
I don’t always need the cane. Mostly I need it when I first get up and my body has to reacquaint itself with walking. But I still carry it around, because the last thing I need is someone in our complex saying that I’m faking it or some BS. I’d rather not have to refer random authorities to my doctor just because our neighbours are nosy and out for blood.
I wanted this picture to be worth a crap. It isn’t, because I was only able to draw the hand and the cane without someone literally pulling on me and breathing down my neck. It was the opposite of the relaxing moment to myself that it was supposed to be.
Hopefully I can throw it away and make a REAL drawing later.