A Letter of Complaint

The Diary of a Not So Ordinary Boy

Heard

Believe it or not, I am not given to complaining. Not officially, anyway. I think it must have something to do with my Britishness; I don’t like to make a fuss. Either that or it’s because I’m inherently lazy. I don’t like to have to exert myself. Or maybe it’s because, like many disabled people who find that bits of the world they are negotiating are just not accessible, it’s easier to simply turn away and take my money elsewhere.

Or maybe it’s because there is always a little bit of me that wonders if it wasn’t, somehow, my fault. Getting the wrong end of the stick is entirely possible. I’ve always got half my mind occupied on something else; I live so much in the present moment that things like the start and end of school holidays or bills have a tendency to creep up on me. I’ve…

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