recently I was in my Cooking class and they were making sugar skulls for the spanish class doing a day of the dead thing. I was in the corner drawing Samuel L. Jackson and the spanish teacher called me over to pass out the skulls. They had students names on the plates and she wanted me to go over and hand them out. So I go over to them and start calling out their names and handing out their skulls. When I go back to pick more up the teacher says something like don't call their names just give them to them. I reply I don't know their names. The teacher is clearly disturbed a little by this. She says really, I say yes, and she says, you've been going to school with them for 5+ years. I say well their not in my class and I don't talk to them. The cooking teacher joins in and says yeah but there are only like 50 kids in that grade you don't know their names. I say no, and they just have me sit down and say oh it's okay.
Then two days later I told the teacher what was going on in the story I was writing, and I talk fast because last time he asked me he walked away mid-sentance. Afterwards he says I have schizophrenia and fucking means it. Then he talks to other students about a roomate he had who had it for like 40 mins. These are really not "oh you're crazy I love it"'s there, there's something wrong with you things. It's been a bit of a depressing week.