The sling is the most irritating thing I have ever endured by the time I reach the library for my free period.
It has been approximately one hour.
There is something deeply humbling about it.
Lunch was brief. I had not been hungry, but Owen badgered me into a sandwich, then watched me as though I might either faint or do something stupid, such as remove the sling and fling my arm around.
My shoulder still aches, a deep, hot throb beneath an ice pack that has long since gone lukewarm. As much as I hate the sling, I hated my shoulder being dislocated more, so I comply.
I am unable to put my shirt on, though.
Dignity, apparently, remains a distant dream.
I could have taken the afternoon off. I only have geography later. But that would have meant sitting in my room with no sense of purp
