A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

9

Now I can stop you here, before you read the 6k plus words of dribble, or I can't. I hate this chapter. It is the best shit thing I've ever written, and for that I hate it. It drags on and on and on and it's poor. But it needs to be done. And for that, I am grateful that I'm done with it. Here you go, enjoy to the best of your ability.

Weeks pass like nobody's business when you begin to enjoy yourself; enjoy each day as if it contains something cherished, even if it ends up being just another day with nothing exciting to power you on.

The days that do contain "excitement," however, usually involve a certain Coyote.

He's a little less reserved, often waiting outside of the school for me, sometimes waiting inside near my last classroom. Which begs the question as to why he is earlier than everyone else, but it's probably him being sly and faking his way into a 'leave five minutes early' card.

Considering his friendliness, which amazes me considering how he both acts and looks, I haven't been taken over by the need to talk to other people. Which has meant social interactions, of which I have never been amazing at, have become redundant.

I've spoken to Katherine a couple times since, usually just in form; I don't share any lessons with here. It's gotten to just a "hello" from me and a "how are you doing?", "seen the weather?", "I'm doing fine, incase you wondered!", "Daryll said he smoked a joint with you!" from her.

I'm managing the art of zoning out her chatter. I'm trying not to be rude at all, and I know she can't help it but I'm not there to talk.

I am there to sulk like a schoolchild.

So I suppose, overall, settling in has been a lot easier and a lot less taxing than I initially thought, at least within school and living in a new place.

Home, however, is a different story.
It's quiet. Always quiet. My brother's always asleep, or just in his room, and doesn't leave to eat or drink, only leaving to squeeze out a desperate piss once every few hours.

Dad has been silent aswell; stuck behind a newspaper, seemingly burrowed into the same one for the past week, when usually it was one every two days or so.
He loved the newspapers, always had his face buried in one when he could, said it was nice to get news the "old-fashioned" way, forgetting that news broadcasts have been around since the nineteen twenties with the radio and can certainly be considered just as "old-fashioned" as ink.

He just seems to love it less.

Mum is the only one holding us together, trying desperately to keep morale up among the disgraced platoon that we are.

She's decorated the house, cleaned damn near everything, done the garden up, occupied herself with some planting, done shopping runs, found a job for both her and my father.

I'm very surprised as to how she's managed. Someone has to I suppose.
I can see the effects of it all taking a toll on her, bags under her eyes from restless nights; fatigue from the constant upkeep.

But she's a strong person, far stronger than anyone else in the family. Faced more adversity than the rest of us combined, and still pushed through everything like a fucking champ.

Well, maybe not more adversity than everyone.

Then there's me. Sour.
I've mentioned before that I try to look a the world in a positive light, taking everything on face value and trying not to pay mind to the wank things in life.

But fuck me sideways is it hard to do at the moment. It's like I've been infected with the "fuck life" plague.

I digress, and life outside of my home has gotten easier, acting like a place I can escape from, rather than it being the other way around.