the only problem is just writing sentences like that, regardless of context, makes me feel more like bluejays have decided to inhabit my skull... and they're squaking up a MOTHER FUCKING STORM. that or i'm laughing all by myself because i think ridiculous things are funny.
and now that i have said that, i can get down to the business of the day.
for the first time in many moons, i have entered a public establishment created for the purpose of sharing knowledge [and now dvds, cds, and trashy magazines] with the general public. not only did i enter, but i have been so good as to borrow books from said establishment with the intent of reading said books in the allotted four weeks they have bestowed upon my gracious soul. this is not to say that i am not one to read. i adore books, albeit, my taste for reading mirrors my taste in movies [think of a couple of things that are completely opposite from one another. then tie a string from one to the other. there you have my taste in movies.]. however, my taste is not what is being discussed right now.
i would like to think that i have a solid understanding of the "what" and "where" of libraries. so why is it that when i find books at the library, the story goes something like this:
Book and i go home. i even hold Book's hand across the parking lot, as to make sure little Book doesn't get run over on the way to the car by a careless pregnant lady in an SUV. once Book and i are safe at home, i tell Book to lie down and open up. since this is the first time we've hung out, i let Book keep it's plastic jacket on because Book tells me he's afraid of strangers. after realizing that Book and i are made to be best friends, i begin to plot on how to keep Book safe from other people that would very well rip out Book's poor fragile paper pages or break Book's spine. after Book and i are tired, i make sure Book and his friends are safely nestled within the big happy bookshelf. then i climb into my big comfy bed and i think of stories to tell the scary, mean lady that told me i needed a second form of i.d. for my terribly thin plastic replacement library card.
...i would have thought that my mama and papa "done taught me right" when it comes to sharing and loving and other types of generosity, but it would seem i have been mistaken. i mean, i have problems lending out books. i have nightmares that all my little paper children will come home physically abused. ...or that i'll have to put some "have you seen me?" ads in the paper...
maybe all i need to do is watch some more SVU on palm street. one about how the poor bereaved mother [who "accidentally" loses, kills, or puts her own child up for adoption] kidnaps another innocent woman's child to replace her own. perhaps i'll pick up some pointers on what to tell the library's associate when i feign disappointment, anguish, and sorrow over a "lost" one.
told you i was like Ariel.
the end
