See, I have these theories. It keeps me busy while I'm riding with four grown men acting like idiots in a tiny, cramped bus. But I must say, I'd have to add myself to that list because when you're riding in a small bus for 10 or more hours straight, you're bound to get bored and into a brawl with the guys. But, I'm getting off topic.
So I have these theories. When my sanity hangs by a thread, I begin to see these theories even clearer. I think that the line between sanity and insanity is like a border of the ventures of your thoughts. If you think too far into everything, then you've crossed the white line. If you think just about enough, but allow yourself to fall dangerously close to the line, then you'd fall somewhere between genius and normal. But whatever it is, you'd land on the side with all the sanity based people. And I suppose, that is good. But when I start to think about these borderlines between sanity and insanity, I wonder how it is I'm seeing this line. I wonder how people could figure if they're sane or insane without seeing the line to cross? And I wonder, where do we fall when we can see the line, but not the limits? This white line acts like a barrier to most people, but for me, it acts like a finishing line of a race. If you cross over it, you're finished, you're done. The crowd cheers. Everyone's in awe. So, if I cross into this line, does it mean I'm certifiably crazy, or just simply the winner of the mind games in my head? It's something I've been contemplating for quite awhile now. I've told no one fearing I might be nearing crazy, not intense wisdom. The problem is, I've been keeping it all in my mind, juggling thoughts, equations, and equations that I was beginning to burst. It was like keeping a song on repeat. No matter how much you liked the song, no matter how much you adored the lyrics, it was bound to get redundant. This is what I felt for my white lines. It just kept playing over and over in my mind like a broken record on a beat up record player. It was redundant and hazy. Maybe I'm just going crazy. Maybe these white lines are just signaling the beginning of my insanity and the end of sanity. Who knows. But whatever it was, it was bugging the hell out of me. Wherever I went, whoever I saw, whatever I did, my mind would retrace into these thoughts of white lines and barriers. My thoughts are interrupted when we hit a speed bump. This causes me to jump up from my seat on the couch and all the thoughts, the theories, and of course, the white lines are gone. I simply look out of the window and I notice, that we've switched lanes and crossed into the next one. And of course, the one next to us is a single, white line. I shrug it off with a tiny laugh and stare down at my feet where two men are engaged in a brawl on the ground. J.C. is sitting at the coffee table sipping, of course, coffee. He's always been that kind of guy you'd expect to see at a small, snug coffee shop reading off haikus and sipping lattes. I throw some mock laughter at him and move on to the next guy. Chris is playing with little keychains on his keys. I direct my attention back to the floor and throw Lance and Joey an odd look before heading to my bunk. So this is when Ophelia decides to make her presence known and smack me in the back of my head. A loud 'ouch' is omitted from my mouth and I throw her a scowl. She just smiles a fake sweet smile. She mouthes 'dumbass' at me and I wonder why I even allow her to hang out on our bus. There is much scoffing going on in my part. She just smirks and throws a boring look at me. Yeah. Whatever. He doubts my presence on this bus. He KNOWS he wants me here. I'm his moral support. I'm his amigo. Wait. Amiga. Doesn't matter anyways. I didn't take Spanish in high school. I opted for German. Justin didn't know any so I figured I could insult him as much as I wanted. So here's us and our story. Let's explain the characters. Me, I'm the level headed one on the tour bus, while Justin is the full blown idiot and the designated best friend. Joey fits in as my overprotective god brother. What a pushover. He knows I don't need his protection. Growing up in the streets of Brooklyn really makes you a tough one so I really don't have to worry if someone tries to hit on me or 'get some' (insert several deep throated grunts of a male.) I call it standing up for myself; Justin calls it taking the form of a full blown bitch. And this is when the smacks are yet again distributed. The boy is impossible. I don't even know why I let Joey introduce me to him. He bothers me to no end. Whatever. She loves me. Come on. We're talking about me here. Justin Timberlake. Ego on the prowl. Ego alert, ego alert. Hide the women and children, Justin Timberlake is now entering the vicinity. Justin is now smirking at me. What? Did I just say that out loud? Oh. I must have. Either that or he has some weird type of telekinesis. "Well Lia, you sure are lucky. You're the only woman on this bus, chica." Wink. Smile. Wink. He's got that down to an artform. Bastard. Did he just say chica? Didn't I already tell him I took German, not Spanish? And since when did he start using that word? Good lord. I hope he doesn't use that at Jive corporate meetings. 'I'd like to see those management papers one last time. Could you pass them over to my side of the table, CHICA?' Butter knife. Butter knife. Kill me with a butter knife. Justin may pull that one on me again. I couldn't outlast another round of Justin-attempting-to-be Mexican talk. She needs to shut that mouth of hers. When I first met her, I labeled her as the shy, quiet type. But NO. She just couldn't keep that mouth shut and let me think that. She had to prove me wrong by spitting out every insult known to man toward my general direction. And yet, I still love her. Figures that I'd become friends with the loud, obnoxious type.
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