I'm Going Crazy

"Please accept from me this unpretentious bouquet of very early-blooming
parentheses: (((()))). I suppose, most unflorally, I truly mean them to be
taken, first off, as bowlegged -- buckle-legged -- omens of my state of mind and
body at this writing."

The intro to this spiel was written by J.D. Salinger in his book "Seymour - An Introduction". It serves a purpose because it's how I feel I should apologize to my readers before I delve into the subject at hand. The subject will be discussed shortly (by the end of this you will have redefined the word 'shortly') but first I must give a small bit of insight as to what kind of psychopathic writer you're dealing with. I have tried several times at defining my view at the rest of the world and for the most part I have failed. I'll take another shot at it here but no promises as to my accuracy. I hate the masses. I generally wish that large groups of people around me were non-existent. I distrust most every person I don't know and some of whom I am slightly acquainted with. The only people I don't know who, in my opinion, are worthy of trust are those that I watch. No, I do not stalk, I watch. I observe, rather, these people daily, or most days, and I enjoy doing so. (You'll also learn through due process that I am a firm believer in the misuse of the comma and a wednesday-night-service-attender of the church of misused parenthesis and semicolons. I belong to a national organization against the proper use of punctuation)

Now of those people there are a select few that gain my interest most. These, and not my other observees, have obtained my interest because I see in them a certain finesse or quality that will bring them, and possibly others, some bit of fame or reputation. I guess the ambiguity and lack of grammatical concern in the preceding text has probably thrown off many of those who cling tightly to their composition books screaming at the improper placement of a preposition - something or other. The ambiguity and lack of grammatical concern has also definitely taken away from any sense of plot or prose to my story. This is good because I have no intent to write a story. There is no prompt to the madness. I am simply putting into words what is in my head.

The point here is I like these people. They're dancers, writers, musicians, students, and each invariably has absolutely no idea that I care enough about their lives to pay them any attention. For one, the dancer, she was a painfully quiet type at one time. She seriously never spoke up and when she did it sounded like the television does when one turns it all the way down, and haggles with the up button until only one or two clicks sound from it and, from the almost deafening silence, protrudes a small squeak of a voice. I watch her, yes with great expectations you might say. It is with the same style of great expectations that I watch anyone in particular. I must make it obviously clear in a sort of disclaimer here that I do not watch these people in the perverted sense. Their private lives are just that and I have done nothing to merit any legal action against myself. I should probably refer to my 'watching' as 'paying attention to' for the remaining duration of this text. All breakaways aside, the dancer has something about her. When I see her dance there is some sort of cosmic change in the way I perceive her countenance that makes me believe she'll get the hell out of Mississippi. Maybe it's the fact that all true dancers supposedly go into some sort of stage trance and elicit a notorious expression that seems somewhat un-worldly, though it could just be ecstasy. You are wondering by now what relevance all this has, and why you should read any further. Well there is no relevance. There is no point other than my being enthused at the idea of writing all this down.

The writer is mostly unknown to me at the moment. I only just recently began to pay attention to her because of a change in her writing. Beforehand, I took her to be an arrogant pain in the ass type who had not the slightest idea what common sense was and had no intent to pursue it. However, recently I noticed something in her writing. She's not always right. She's wrong sometimes but not genuinely so. Her errors before this were always correct errors, or wrongs that were right but so right they were wrong. From reading these one could say that she had book smarts but not street smarts. She couldn't appeal to her reader's need for familiarity and be entirely 100% correct by the book. Now I realize that nobody is really like that, no right-minded person who was born on or after 1988 at least. We're all liturgically and grammatically lazy by nature. It's of ease to attend the services at our church of misused parenthesis and semicolons, because attending our services really only consists of sleeping in rather than attending your normal English Composition class. Mission work with us is quite simple as well; one simply goes to that composition class but ignores every word the teacher says so as to plant the seed of grammatical laziness in others. Our generation is, for the most part, the mass in attendance with this great institution. Back to the story, where was I, She's a writer who is not always right, though I once thought her to be mistakenly so. I cannot really expound upon the reason why I pay her any attention because to do so would include samples of her work, or possibly other defining features and the identities of these people are really supposed to remain anonymous. In writing about people who read what I write, anonymity has always been the best policy.

I’ll refer to the musician by two different names. Firstly and most obviously, she is the musician, and secondly she is the governor’s daughter. Don’t ask me why I call her that. It just seems to me that she’s very refined, even tempered, and eloquent like a governor’s daughter would be. She is paler than the moon with dark brown hair that definitely pulls the eyes in her direction. She’s a lady who wears clothes that fit without exposing her body for the world to see. Like I said, she’s much akin to a governor’s daughter. She plays music so well that I could sit in on a practice for hours if permitted. She is right all the time, but, unlike the writer, she is neither haughty about it nor boldly outspoken. She states her truth either silently or by her course of action. I cannot lie; she and the dancer have very close places in my heart that they will probably never know about. I can only say that if either of them should come upon misfortune or sickness that it would sadden me much to the same extent as it would their families.

The most ambiguous of them all is obviously the student. My readers should know that I’m in school at the time of this writing, so when I say I’m writing about a student it could be absolutely anyone. I’ll narrow it down somewhat but not to an identifiable level. He is twice as old as any of the people I have described already. He in fact should be teaching by this point and not learning. He does though. He learns everyday and it is amazing to watch. Someone is learning with kids and a wife and a house (and probably a mortgage in these critical financial times). It teaches me that I will still be a student at forty. I will still have much to learn after marriage and after my children have grown a little. I’m happy to know this. I’d include more about the student, but you already know that I cannot get too personal with these biographies. Anonymity is the best policy.

These people play silent roles in the back story of my freshman year. Maybe no one will know who I’m talking about. I urge everyone to hold their guesses because I will not respond to them. If you think you’re one of the few described here then examine it closer and closer until you rule yourself out. As someone who pays attention to these folks, I will probably write more in the future. I may include every detail I observe about these real-life characters. Don’t put labels on these people other than the nickname handle’s I’ve already assigned them.