I promised yesterday that I would attempt to be entertaining.

I lack the sense to prepare my lunch early and bring it in to work, which means that I go out for lunch and eat disgusting, fat and sodium ridden garbage almost every single day.  I mention the timing because it is important to make clear that going out for lunch is a daily occurrence and not something that only happens once in a while.

You are probably aware of the phenomenon where you are driving somewhere where you drive very frequently and you manage to do all or most of the trip on autopilot.  Maybe you wonder once you realize where you are how you managed to pilot a heavy motorized vehicle all that way without killing anyone.  This happens more often in the morning or at the end of the day, the common theme being tired.  Well, yesterday was a shitty day– more on that in a bit– and today was, while better than yesterday, still more than a little tiring.  Particularly the morning part of today.  I was designee for a couple of hours around lunch, and I held down the fort while my partner-in-arms ate lunch, then told him he was in charge while I went to lunch myself.

I was halfway home before it hit me that it was 11:30 in the morning and that my day was not, in fact, actually over yet, and that I had not actually left work in order to go home for the day.  That, in fact, I rather needed to go acquire some food and then head right back into the office.

A new one, even for me.

The rest of this is all existential horror and sadness, so you probably ought to bow out now unless you’re particularly invested in hating the world.  I’ll even put a line in to dissuade you from continuing.

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This is not actually my story.  It’s put together from various things people have told me in my capacity as building designee over the last couple of days.  I also know the student in question pretty well, because she was at my other school before moving to my current one, with a year or so off in between where her parents were “homeschooling” her.  Keep that lil’ detail in mind while you’re reading this; this child’s parents think they can homeschool her, and are legally allowed to by the state of Indiana.  I also know her older sister, who is high school age; no part of this story would be any more or less surprising coming from her.

Tuesday: I hear from our social worker.  The student has been referred to him by a teacher, and he’s keeping me in the loop.  She has reported, apparently with a giant smile on her face (a sort of cheery obliviousness is characteristic of this family) that she hasn’t been able to sleep in several days because 1) she and her older sister have been sleeping on the floor in the dining room of her house because someone else is using their bed (it’s unclear how many beds we’re discussing) and 2) in addition to sleeping on a linoleum floor, she’s being kept awake by the mice constantly running over her body all night and waking her up.

And then there’s 3) the ghost.  She reports the ghost, apparently, in exactly the same tone and facial expression as the sleeping-on-the-floor and mice-all-over-me story.  The ghost is named Wanda or Wendy or something, wears a long white dress, carries a scythe, of all fucking things, and keeps waking her up by leaning over her and staring at her face.  So, she’s sleeping on the floor in the kitchen, the mice are running all over her, and she wakes up and there’s the ghost staring at her.

Hell, if I’ve ever had a what is this I don’t even moment in teaching, this is it; half of this story is clearly problematic as far as the chances of it being true; the rest of it, given what I know about the family, would not surprise me a bit.  I tell him I’ll notify the principal and he should continue with his investigation and get anyone involved that he needs to get involved.

Wednesday: I hear from the nurse.  This kid– the same kid, only the nurse doesn’t know the story from yesterday– has come in and requested a menstrual pad.  The nurse hands it over and waves her to the bathroom to… put it on? Install it? Use it? What the hell is the correct verb here?

Anyway, one way or another the kid comes out a minute later and tells the nurse that she doesn’t know how to… I’ll say “put it on” until someone corrects me.  The nurse, somewhat bewildered because the girl is an eighth grader and presumably has been dealing with these things for a couple of years or so, says something like “put it in your underwear,” or whatever you might say, hell, I don’t wear the damned things.

She tells the nurse that she’s not wearing underwear.

The nurse, now bewildered and horrified, asks if she just started her period or dear jesus god what have you been doing all day?

The girl tells her that she’s just been bleeding down her legs all day.  Apparently every so often she’s been asking for a bathroom pass and wiping her legs off with toilet paper.  It took until 2:00 in the afternoon before “go to the nurse and ask for supplies” occurred to her.  She’s wearing dark pants, and she’s chubby, so no one had noticed any stains.  Whether anyone noticed the smell and didn’t do anything about it is, as yet, an unanswered question.

At this point the DCFS referrals have been somewhat expedited.

Remember: this kid’s parents were allowed to homeschool.  Also remember: when this child doesn’t pass the ISTEP, Indiana law says it’s my fault.