This is the second time this week I've been inside a library.
I was just here yesterday, come to think of it. My mother was running errands, so I figured I'd go along for the ride -- at least I wasn't driving myself somewhere for the fifteenth and a half'th time, if that's even a word. We didn't have enough time to pick out all of the things we wanted before my mom had to run the rest of her errands, and it turned out that we forgot a few things. So here we were, again, our second day in the same library.
Books make me want to write, for some reason. I want to see my books along the books of other writers, to maybe have somebody else read my book and feel happy about it. To have someone read my book, to fill up a book, it just puts that feeling of euphoria inside me, kind of like...like happiness. I know things aren't supposed to bring happiness, but I can't help that feeling of happiness. It's even more than my music. With my music...I only play music to make myself happy, no matter what I say. I write the words to fit my situation. In this, I know that nobody else will ever really understand my music. I like playing for people sometimes, and I want to reach people through my music, sure. But I want to reach people through my words more. This becomes harder and harder as my words get jumbled up. Plus, Blue Line's never been fond of my writing. I mean, he has, but not too much as of recently. And he hates libraries. I'm not sure why. Maybe because he feels like all the books...are going to jump out at him and attack him. I don't know. I can't really figure it out. But he won't walk inside one if I paid him to. Not that he needs money.
And yet, I find myself doing this. Rambling. Inside my writing. I just write on and on for no reason, and I expect to be along the greats someday? Like this is going to get me anywhere. But I hope I can get this all down before I completely lose it. Heck, I'm hoping I can graduate college before I lose it, so it won't affect my grades and my possible future.
Maybe that's all I'm hoping for.
A future. Not only for me, but for Blue Line.
Fat chance of that as I check the Internet -- the same sites I always check. My mail, that one website that connects me to all my friends, and the old website for the Skylar Resort, in the southern part of this state. Their latest video on the website shows the new monorail, which should be ready by the time that the resort opens sometime in April...and then they had to go and show where the Blue Line used to be, the empty spot. Nothing's there anymore. It's just a bunch of empty space. Of course, this is the moment in time where I personally want to thwack the people in the video and scream, of course Blue Line's not there! He's sitting right next to me, playing with the patterns on my bedspread!
But then I'm not being fair to you. I'm not explaining any of this correctly. So let me attempt to start from the beginning, and just put things out here for all to see.
The name is Mandy. Mandy Ryan, maybe Spowers, depending on how close I get to my boyfriend, Jeremiah. I will turn 20 in approximately two months, maybe a little less than that. I live a fairly decent life at the moment. I currently go to Middleford University, a college some three hours by car away from where I am at now (that's where I met Jeremiah). I enjoy music, and I long to love God with all my heart and soul and mind and strength. Once upon a time, it wasn't as simple as that. But since those days long ago, since the first summer, thanks to the one I simply refer to as "49" and to the Red Line, whom I couldn't save, and the Blue Line, whom I could...sorry, I feel as if I'm getting ahead of myself again. Mandy Ryan. To the world, I am a simple girl, with the world at her feet. I see myself as having the world at my feet for completely different reasons. I am a whisperer.
When I say I am a whisperer, I mean that I can speak to things. Things that have been formed with an identity, things that have life in them. Not physical life...I can't talk to trees or flowers or animals or anything like that. No, I'm stuck talking to...electronics. They speak to me, not literally, but in my mind, a voice that is not my own. By now you're probably straying from this writing, what is this girl thinking, she's completely out of her mind, schizophrenic. Voices in her head. (I put my glasses on; I wish my left eye would stop twitching.) I've already had a discussion about this, with Jeremiah, about how Katalina would tell me in the long ago days that I was crazy, that I really was schizophrenic. Imagine that, the voice in your head telling you that you were crazy! Jeremiah said that if I really was mentally insane, I wouldn't know it. I would just believe everything automatically; it would be part of my world, and only after medication would I know the difference. So I'm not crazy. If you think I'm crazy, then you can turn away from this right now and not read it. I'm trying to reach people with my writing, but I will only write to those who have ears to hear. Don't expect me to be the perfect person writing this as if I'm a perfect character, a Mary Sue. I've got a bunch of flaws, but I feel like I need to put all of this down before either A: I forget it all or B: I completely lose myself.
So here I go -- blindly, the only way I know how.
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