The Skeleton in the Room (On Hold)

Journal Entry #1-- Amanda Kate

I'm not known for my decision making skills. In fact, in a group situation with stress and chaos, people will turn to me last. Every time. 

I've been flaky from birth. When I was little it would take me thirty minutes to decide if I wanted a sandwich or a bagel. And then when I finally chose and got food, I decided that actually, I wanted waffles.

When I got older, it was more significant decisions. What I wanted to do as a hobby- horseback riding or drawing? Did I want to be public schooled or home schooled? Was twelve o'clock in the morning an appropriate time to be making macaroni and cheese?

The answers I made to the above questions, for the record, were drawing, public schooled, and yes.

And that last one was a mistake.

Our kitchen ceiling is currently sporting a lovely black soot stain directly above the stove.

The first guy I ever dated turned out to be a flaming homosexual. Flaming. 

Some days I wonder if he was that way before I met him and I just like, missed it, or if I made him gay or something. Anyway. 

Bad decision.

One summer day, I thought it would be a good idea to go sit out on the roof of my house. No one else was home, and it wasn't quite as sturdy as I thought, and quite a bit higher than I imagined.

I ended up stuck out there for forty five minutes, and narrowly escaped a anxiety attack and rupturing a stomach ulcer.

Bad decision.

My point being, I suck at making decisions.

I made another very very bad, awful, no good, horrific decision this afternoon when I showed up at the guidance counselor's office. 

I had an appointment- one I had not made, but had been made for me. 

The bad decision was me actually going to the appointment. I could have called my mom and had her pick me up. She would have. I know she would have. I could have hidden out in the girl's bathroom for thirty minutes.

I could have done a many number of things, but I did not. I did not, and it was unfortunate.

I was the first of the six- no I'm sorry, five- of us to go for an appointment. The other four are going as the week progresses. I think Max's appointment is tomorrow.

I was the first to go, and I shouldn't have gone. I was the lab rat, the guinea pig, the experimental hamster. The regrettable rodent.

The guidance counselor- Michelle- always acts like she's had about eighty cups of coffee and a teaspoon of sunshine. You can see her grin from across the room, and this is when you know to bolt.

You don't want to get caught in a conversation with her. She's all happiness and cheer, and her high pitched voice and squeal makes me think she probably used to be a cheerleader.

You know the kind. Bubbly, fakely joyful, shrill, obnoxious.

I voluntarily went into a very small enclosed room with this woman for thirty minutes. Mistake numero uno.

Numero dos would be shrugging off the original hug she offered, because then she insisted and hugged me for about three times the normal amount of time that is deemed socially acceptable from a person you don't know that well at all and have no desire to know.

I then sat down in the very uncomfortable chair across the desk from her and proceeded to have a very uncomfortable conversation that went a bit like this: