April 2013
20 posts
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HOW I FEEL WHEN SOMEONE ASKS ME IF I'VE READ A...
librarianproblems:
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Boston ER Doctor Finds Marathon Memories Hard To... →
At Massachusetts General Hospital, Dr. Leana Wen cared for people hurt by the bomb blasts at the Boston Marathon finish line. She worried that the next patient she treated would turn out to be her husband. Ten days later, the sounds of sirens still shake her.
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Shouldn't Time Have Stopped?
I don’t quite understand:
Shouldn’t we be still now?
Shouldn’t we be looking each other in eyes?
Shouldn’t we be smiling as our paths cross?
Shouldn’t every day be different now?
Shouldn’t it all look different now?
Shouldn’t all the right things matter more?
Shouldn’t going on as if nothing had changed be the wrong thing to do?
I don’t...
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I Should Have Bought the Parm
Moments ago: So, it’s Sunday around 5pm and I’m finally washing (some) of the massive amount of dishes that have been piling up. I find myself gazing out the window at a bright blue and sunny sky that’s just beginning to hint of the dusk to come. The house across from my kitchen isa dark brown three-story and I’ve looked, blindly, into their windows many times. I picked...
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Library problems
honeyedlife:
Whoever thinks archiving is boring doesn’t understand the dangers. Today a spider crawled out of a stack of letters. I can’t find it.
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Frustration
I’m so hurty and angry and sad and frustrated, (and I’ve been this way since Monday), that I haven’t a clue how to write anything. Anything of interest. Anything that makes me feel better. Anything that conveys my mess of emotions and thoughts. I’ve cried every single morning since Monday. I couldn’t listen to much of the radio, not even NPR, after the bombings-the...
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Please Be Okay →
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Perspective
(I wrote this awhile ago but kept it in my drafts-seems like an appropriate time to remind myself of this when clearly I’ve lost my balance on the teeter-totter, medications or no.)
It’s all in how I’m looking at things
I never see how extreme I’ve been in my thinking/acting/feeling until I’m climbing out of it or looking back up at it
I think the meds give me a...
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Windmill
The Man of La Mancha reference is certainly accurate here, I’m tilting at all sorts of windmills these days.
I am more so the windmill at the moment: arms akimbo, flailing about with no restraint or understanding.
I spent the weekend with an eight-year-old who delighted in spinning with her arms out until she got too dizzy and collapsed in a pile. I’m so dizzy already-when does the...
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Here We Go Again
Is it because I know how good I will feel if I go out that I stay inside?
What the fuck sense does that make?
Do I give it too much credit or not enough?
Do I give myself too much credit or not enough.
How is there both an it and a myself?
It feels like ancient muscle memory to overcome.
20 years of practice makes for streamlined response system.
The sunlight makes me feel guilty.
My...
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My Ability
My ability to fuck myself over is quite impressive.
My capacity for self-pity is boundless.
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March 2013
25 posts
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waking up and getting up are two very very different things
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Dreamt
Heavy stupor-laden head attached to a body still swimming the river.
Sandy eyes feeling full of water and bright fall sunshine while March sun streams in the bedroom.
It was bright blue and bright yellow and there were faces and voices along the shore as Amy and I swam in memory of a dead friend who this morning wakes across the country with no knowledge of her death last night.
Animals crashed...
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Doubt
I don’t know quite what it means to trust myself.
To go with my gut. Trust my instincts.
Follow my heart. Do what I know is best.
All of that has gotten me in a bit of hot water in the past.
And those who love me know that history well.
It’s different. I know I’ve said it before but this time it’s true.
This isn’t the disease. This isn’t the crazy. I...
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They go in not because they need any certain volume but because they feel that...
– Christopher Morley
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There was something…that made me restless with the need to grab up every...
– Alfred Kazin
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But what is more important in a library
than anything else
than everything...
– Archibald Macleish
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Sense Memory
Step off the the stoop and I’m nine
March dark sky solid with heaviness
The wind carries a wet childhood straight from the Maryland river
Reeds bent and leaves folded into roofs and tea cups
Shoes mud coated and nails black with clean dirt
It smells like Spring and there is no other way
We are wise and perfect and green
Wind and wet and chill and bite
Three girls
...
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The Color of my Hair
Evidently my hair follicles have decided that as my mind and heart were not maturing at a satisfactory rate they would assist a bit by changing the color of my hair.
First white hair. I’m guessing more will follow if I can base that assumption upon my observations of the hair of my peers and elders.
I actually grinned when I saw it. I was attempting to tame my newly shorn head which is...
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Sometimes
Sometimes when I see someone walking and using their iPad at the same time I find myself hoping that they’ll trip or walk into traffic or smack into a building.
Being a librarian means I have the freedom to be interested in anything and...
– I want to be Barbara Fister’s best friend (via thelifeguardlibrarian)
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My Brain is a Bit Broken
My brain is a bit broken.
It tells me not to leave the house.
It tells me it doesn’t matter.
It tells me I don’t have to do anything.
And then…
It shames me for hiding inside.
It tells me nothing matters more.
It tells me I have to do everything. Now. And forever.
February 2013
4 posts
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Banned & challenged books | American Library... →
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GPs to prescribe self-help books for mental health... →
This is very inspiring!
The books on prescription scheme was announced as part of a new national approach to library services drawn up by the Society of Chief Librarians. They revealed details of four “universal offers”, or promises, that libraries will provide services in the areas of health, reading, information and digital.
The society’s president, Janene Cox, said...
Exhibitions - Current Exhibitions - The Eric Carle... →
Such a neat museum!!!
January 2013
7 posts
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What I do
I write to try and get it out, seize the tightness and pull it from my chest.
It sits inside and atop me with a weight and grief and thickness.
I cried.
I laughed
I told.
I listened.
I prayed.
And yet it continues to rest on me, nestle and clench at once.
So I thought I’d write so I could say,
I wrote.