On Their Poor Substitute for a Public Library

The place where i work and live right now is called a City. Even though i can walk all around it in a couple of hours. There is one excuse for a grocery store in which everything costs twice as much as it does everywhere else, which, what with rising gas prices and all that, is quite substantial. The main street consists almost entirely of t-shirt print shops and fudge shops, which i tried to browse once, but the t-shirt people stalk you and the fudge people don't have to. I can't resist. I begin to realize that however peaceful rural life sounds in theory, i have been too spoiled by suburbia. But worst of all is the Library. This is not the one where i work - that is the state park library and archives. This is the Public library. It is a ways out of town - 20 minute walk. A small, brown, tin building, with a few narrow slits for windows. The organization is inconsistent and inconvenient. There is no computer catalogue at all, and the card catalogue is stuck in a corner with the few public computers available, so that it is almost impossible to utilize. However, since a good portion of the books aren't catalogued at all anyway, it doesn't really matter. A good third of the book selection consists of Romance novels. Not that i have anything against Romance novels per say - i am rather fond of Georgette Heyer (although i don't think her novels ought to be in the Romance section, anyway; or, i think they ought to be, and that most of the books now in the Romance section ought to be put under Sex/Lust/Bad Grammar, but that's another story)... where was i? umm... and i like light reading as much as anyone, but their selection of fantasy, science fiction, and mystery is abysmal. They have a few classics, but only the most famed, or the books are so old and in such poor condition they're practically impossible to read anyway. My family's library is much more comprehensive, better organized, and in better condition. Their selection of movies is worse - very few classics, and of course nothing too popular or i suppose it would get stolen... this is a big tourist area, and it it would never get returned. So i do understand that. Libraries are all about the books, anyway. And there they have fallen short. Oh, and the way they divide books between young adult and adult? Also completely nonsensical - worse than usual. Why can't they do everything my way??? AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! When i do manage to find a book, which sometimes happen (they do have a decent collection of Dickens - which really ought to be catalogued! - and i've just discovered the Septimus Heap series, which is interesting but mainly i like it because of Septimus Harding), i turn down the road towards the water. I walk past the few feet of "woods," the little yellow house with the little white dog with the little loud bark, the nice gray house with the wrap around porch, and the large tree in the middle of a small gravel parking lot. Summer cottages are on either side of me, but there are few trees which means there are fewer bugs (it has been a really wet season here, and they are everywhere, but bugspray makes me break out if i use it a lot, so i just get bitten. my brothers swear by their own unique remedy of swallowing two match heads, but i think they're just trying to tease me.) A bench swing sits in a small plot of sand, just in front of a rather large rock - evidently a memorial of some kind. It is a gorgeous view of the water, with the Bridge on my right, and the sun setting on my left. One tall lone conifer is all that is between me and the sun, and sometimes i feel that if i could climb to the top i would be able to reach out and touch the last rays. Soon the light is gone and the bugs come out in full force. Back to the compound.

GSR-ing

So. I have a couple of posts in the works but right now i am just going to ramble, okay? Because this is all about me, anyway. The internship is unpaid, but they do provide a part-time job so that i can eat. And housing. Nice, right? I'm claustrophobic (which i never realized until i was lost in a hay maze for over an hour - not a good way to find out). After that, i hate talking to People (as opposed to Persons - there is a difference), and Money. This job - Guest Services Representative - is both of the latter. When i say hate, don't imagine impassioned and angry. Agonizing terror would perhaps be better. I have very little control over this, in part because i am afraid of losing control. Does that make sense? No, i didn't think so. I get butterflies, i feel faint, my hands shake, and i lose all power of logical thought processes (not that i ever had much to began with, as my brothers will gladly tell you). My parents say, "It's good experience for you. Growing." I think it sucks. Okay, okay. This is my second weekend (for some reason, the paperwork wasn't prepared for me at first). I have a spiel pretty much down, i know where the bathrooms are (the number one question), i know most of the prices, and have managed to make conversation with all of my co-workers. I had zero training and no previous experience, but people seem to be pretty generous of my mistakes. Today i was only 16 cents over, and they allowed me to come in a couple of hours late so i could attend church. I work primarily in one bookstore, under a bridge. However, sometimes i cover lunches at a gift shop down the way. While there, two children, their mother, and aunt came in. The aunt is a very ... shall we say, forthright? forceful? personality. She takes her time shopping. I was holding a compass behind the counter for the boy. They were bored, and started asking questions about how the date stamp worked, and the clicker, etc. So i told them. And we must have chatted for half an hour. I mean, it was so random. About Pennsylvania, and lighthouses, and sibling relationships, and dogs, and compasses, and i don't even remember. Anyway, on their way out, they asked my name, and i told them. And then they came and greeted me in the other store later, around closing time - just the kids, you know - and played with the clickers there, and we chatted some more... and i think if i had been working in the store the next day, they would have tried to come and visit me again. I don't even know their names. I mean, it was weird. But cool. Anyway. I still strongly dislike it, and often get flustered. I much prefer the library. But i can do this. My battery is getting pretty low. So, like, i should probably go. But i really, really missed you!!

HI!!!!!!

Oh, blog, how i've missed you! My neglect has been entirely involuntary, i promise you. I managed to obtain an collections/research internship in the archives of a state park. Unfortunately, access to internet is pretty much limited to Burger King, and a public library which closes half an hour after i get off work. So. Yay! I hope to be more regular, but until school in September, my access will be limited.

Hey

i'm still here. You will please forgive my lack of posting - i have been on the road and in the hospital, which unhappily prevented me from blogging.

Bliss

She is waiting. Her father is gone. Getting shot at. Or whatever. She knows that more people die every year in California in car accidents than die Over There. In the Sandbox. If she had been marking days off a calendar, like some people did, she would know that her father was supposed to have been back by now. She would be impatient and anxious. She was glad she didn't do that. Wasn't anxious. He had told her mom the new date of return. But it would probably change, too. Always did. Better not to know. Perhaps it was today. She could go inside, but then she'd have to talk to people. She'd rather wait outside. The air was brisk, but the sky was rosy and the birds were singing. She looked around. One of the hanging plants had fallen, and someone had placed it in the rocking chair. There was a nest in it. Dead baby birds. It had landed on the mama bird. Bird brains. Well, can't do anything about them now. Don't look. It's just a couple of birds. There's a reason "bird-brain" is an insult. Don't care. Birds are singing. Birds are singing abnormally close. She glances back at the nest. One left. Ugly little thing. About the size of her thumb. About the same colour, too. You're not supposed to pick up eggs, 'cause then the mother won't return. Well, mama won't be returning. And it must be cold. She can see right through it. And it can't see a thing. She looks at the door. Talk to people. She tells them. Asks for something to put it in. She will bring it to school with her, to the biology teacher, Mrs. Pattern. Mrs. Pattern will understand. Will help. They bring an empty jewelry box. The poor thing looks so alone, so cold. It can't grip the slick cardboard. She holds it in her hands. Keeps it warm. It seems to understand, to trust her. It quiets, and lays still. She can see it breathing. Feel it's blood beating against her hands. It's an hour to school. The bird brain stays asleep. He's rather cute, really. In a Smeagol sort of way. Mrs. Pattern hasn't come yet. School doesn't officially start for another hour, and she has choir practice. He will probably like their singing. Make him comfortable. Anyway he's still asleep. He sleeps through most of choir practice. A few kids ask her what she's holding. She shows them, carefully. She doesn't want him to wake. They laugh. She gets someone else to put her folder away, and rushes up to the biology lab. Oh, good! Mrs. Pattern is here. She reveals the bird. Mrs. Pattern gets out a heat lamp, and a towel, and calls the animal people. Mrs. Pattern tells her she shouldn't have touched him. And tells her to come back every hour to feed the bird a few drops of water. At the end of the day, Mrs. Pattern will take the bird to a rescue agency. She leaves class early to feed the bird. Sneaks into the back of the lab. Still breathing! She gets out the dropper, and watches him drink. She can see him swallow - see the water go down his throat and into his belly. His belly gets bigger and bigger throughout the day. There is an air bubble in it. He is still calm. Other kids have heard about him. Come to see him. Mrs. Pattern decides to let a couple other kids pick him up, after they have washed their hands. She is worried. At the end of the day Mrs. Pattern gives her an email address where she can write to find out if he survives. He probably won't, you know. She knows. She gets home. Math, ugh. Dinner time. Clean the kitchen. She turns on the computer. "Dear Dad, Hey. How are you? Is it very hot? I found a bird today. Got my math test back - B. It's cold here. Bye. Love you." Click. Send. She stares at the address. Slowly... "Dear Rescue Agency, Hello. I found a baby bird today. My teacher, Mrs. Pattern, brought it in. She said I could send to this address to find out. So I was wondering how he was doing. Thanks. Bye." Click. Delete. Better not to know.

STUDMUFFIN!!!

this is to give you something to look at while i am pretending to work:

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i am related to this person...

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(that's a baby shirt he used to actually wear. we found it in the rag bin and decided to see if it would still fit him. it seemed like a good idea at the time.)

and this person...

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(see his muscles!! that's a blade in his hand, in case you can't tell. and he's wearing a pirate necklace with a matching earring. i somehow don't think many pirates wear socks, but oh well.)

and this person...

(do you know, he actually asks for ties at Christmas? and has since he was eleven? i love this kid. even though he's way cuter than me. he has to fend off the girls with a stick.)

awww... isn't he adorable?

and always remember, there's no wrong way to eat a Reese's

Exams...

so, like, i'm kinda really busy write now, b/c i was, like, an imbassilic idiotic stupid person and, like, majorly overextended myself this semester, and, like, i'd really rather be writing blog posts, but, like, i kinda need to finish my papers and study and maybe if i'm, like, extremely lucky i'll have time to sleep. so if i don't post anything for the next couple of weeks (b/c i know you're all simply drooling to see what i'll come up with next, which, at the moment, looks like it will be either the first time i met jane austen or the next chapter in my "moving" series - btw, don't i just have the most original titles? - or umm... yeah... where was i?) oh yeah - actually, like, really working, like, really. okay. can you tell i have a paper due tomorrow? okay. i gotta go now. really. like, i so totally mean it. okay. like, 'bye. i hope you miss me, but i know you won't. or don't. or whatever. okay. no. back to the utrecht psalter!!!