I don’t even know why I’m writing this blog post. Something about needing to express myself, my doctor told me? What does she know? I bet most of her diplomas are fake anyway. Who ever heard of a university in Cheltenham, anyway?
She told me I need to write down everything I think. Just a stream of… something. Concussions? No. Consciousness, that’s right. Stream of consciousness. Just, whatever I want to write down. Like this. Or this. Or this.
Should I describe my room? No, that’s boring, even for me and I’m the only one who’s ever gonna read it. What else… I guess I could write about what’s bothering me? The main thing at the moment is just my foot. Even just sitting here, no weight on it, it’s hurting a lot. I
I don’t even know what I did. I need some sort of expert in foot conditions. Cheltenham podiatrists would be the best, obviously, but then I might accidentally bump into my annoying therapist and she’d ask me what was wrong.
No, that’s off the table then. It could just be a sprain, I suppose, but I’m sure I would have noticed it. Maybe it’s a fungal infection – god I hope it’s not a fungal infection. I’ve seen those shows on TV, the ones they only show when the kids go to bed. I’m sure as hell not letting that happen to my feet.
I’ll look up a podiatrist to help with foot care treatments near Cheltenham later, when my sister is done with her homework on the main computer. Or maybe I’ll just jump into a game of WatchOver with my friends instead. Actually, yeah, that sounds way more fun.
And I’ll be a lot less likely to accidentally see photos of people with weird foot problems.
Woah, that stream of consciousness thing really works. Who knows, maybe my therapist isn’t a moron. Maybe those fake diplomas she has hung up on her wall are real after all.