let's go crazy

I remember very little of elementary school because I was always looking towards the future. I didn't pay attention to the life I was living then; I couldn't wait for the bigger and better things to come. One thing I do remember, however, is my weekly trip to the school psychologist. For some reason, my sixth grade teacher thought I had major mental problems. This resulted in my counseling sessions with Crystal every week. She would play games with me and ask me questions. The meetings were actually quite enjoyable. I was very aware of the fact that these little rendez-vous were causing me to miss the dreaded spelling test each week.
During one session Crystal asked me to draw a picture.
“Do you like to draw?” she asked me one day.
“Yeah,” I shrugged. She slid a blank white paper across the table to me. There's something magical about a perfectly white sheet of paper—it's just begging to be robbed of it's colorless virginity. Crystal passed me a small box of Crayola crayons, and I held them in my left hand while I absorbed the whiteness of the page with my eyes.
What should I draw? I evaluated my options. I have always loved to draw words, write letters in stylistic cursive or crazy shapes.
I could design my name, I thought. I sat in bliss with my crayons and white sheet. Hah! The rest of the class is taking a spelling test right now. I could hardly believe my luck. While my classmates were laboring over the monotonous routine of elementary school work, I got to sit in a quiet room with Crystal and play games while we talked. It almost wasn't fair.
I thought about it a little longer. It was almost too good to be true, I realized. I stopped grinning. I lifted my eyes from the innocent blank paper and looked at Crystal. Suddenly her kind, smiling face appeared to be hiding something.
This is a test! I concluded. I imagined Crystal taking my finished picture into some laboratory deep in an underground room of the elementary school. She looked through books and analyzed my drawings.
What if she decides there's nothing wrong with me? I wondered. I began to panic. If Crystal found that my picture proved me to be nothing more than a normal sixth grader, I would stop meeting with her. That would mean I would have to join the rest of the class in spelling every week! The horror! Instead of talking, games and coloring I would be slaving away in a classroom. I couldn't risk it. I yanked the black crayon out of the small box and began to scribble. I scribbled until the entire page was black. Then, I casually handed it over to Crystal.

How's that for psychotic?
“Hmm, I see,” Crystal said. Her forehead wrinkled as she bit her lip and looked worriedly at my masterpiece. She looked up at me and put a fake smile on her face.
“Our time is up, you can go back to class now,” she said. “Same time next week.”

Yes.