Library Conversations

1/17/2023

I am pretending to write an essay in order to justify being at a library on a random Tuesday to the librarian behind me. They just won't go away apparently. I honestly do not think they would care too much but I just need an excuse to be here considering my 529 accounts haven't been updated. I hope it does that soon because if not we're going to have problems. I've always been so curious about what librarians do. It seems that this library has a good mixture of young and old librarians. Young people are still becoming librarians is the most surprising part to me I guess. Do we think they have any books that could help me learn mandarin? Maybe you never know! It could work. Another older librarian approaches the other. They discuss their work in great depth. By great depth, I mean a quick exchange of information of course. The dude across from me looks vaguely Russian, he reminds me of a special education kid from my Middle School, but he can't be him. That kid had a pretty large mental disability, he was quite handsome but I could never feel any sort of attraction to him because I knew his mental state wouldn't progress into a full adult's understanding of love and relationships. I'm not too sure how middle school me knew that but I'm pretty sure it was because of a Law and Order: SVU episode that I watched when I was younger. My parents let my siblings and I watch a lot of things we probably shouldn't have been exposed to.

Great, now there's a bunch of kids behind me. I actually think it's probably like a program or supplementary thing considering they have clipboards to write things. I wish our school had a better library. Maybe it was a good library, I wouldn't have known. I had trouble in high school. Now how much of that is due to my undiagnosed learning disability, diagnosed mental health problems, or 'abusive' home life is indiscernible. I didn't have trouble when it came to understanding the material. The trouble came after school, I would go home tired beyond belief, and I hated doing homework. Partially because I didn't think it was necessary for me and partially because I couldn't bring myself to do it unless absolutely necessary. I would work myself into panic attacks about how I was falling behind but I had difficulty getting the work going. Apparently, that's something called executive dysfunction but I'm half convinced I'm just making excuses for myself. Maybe the therapists just want me to feel better about myself despite the fact that I'm actually just a lazy piece of shit.

Now how much of my self-esteem issues are because of my myriad of mental issues and how much of it is the result of being insulted damn near every day by others? I would be very curious about the answer to that question. Next time I'm going to go to those little tables on the opposite end of the library. Why did I think this area wouldn't be busy; it's quite literally in front of the Large Print section of the library. I know why, because I have no concept of thinking ahead, don't worry that's a topic in my next therapy session. Not really I just said that because it's what I'd say if I was talking to someone. This is the essence of my writing, I'm just having a conversation with myself, the ever-present spectator. Sometimes it feels like I'm just a little voice in my head watching my body and hearing my words, commentating on every little detail. Even now I'm aware that I keep tilting my head while typing, not too sure why considering it looks stupid. And now here comes the adjustment, making sure I look pretty for the redwood tree they have planted just outside the window. Always trying to look pretty, to look welcoming, to look trustworthy, be attractive. Even in the privacy of my own home I can't help but perform.

I think I'm going to stop writing this sometime soon, I should probably use the library for its intended purpose of looking for and reading books. Books are such a good form of escapism, highly highly recommended. If you truly must know, my favorite is a book called The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. I like books because they remind me that no matter the hardships I experience, at least I'm not some YA protagonist stuck in a poorly constructed fantasy world who has to lead some form of rebellion. I also like reading books because I like breaking down the literary techniques authors use to convey emotion. I personally like to know how I'm being manipulated. Oscar Wilde once said that Art does not mirror life, but it mirrors the spectator. It's been hard trying to wrap my head around that idea. When I read a sad story and I cry, what does that say about me? What does it say when I don't cry? Is the story not written effectively or does my empathy have a threshold, at what point does something qualify as sad to me? I don't think I want the answer to that question.

I'm going to wrap this up, I have a poetry book to find. I might put these little things in a place to keep these entries, a public diary if you will. My horoscope said that I will embrace this kind of thing.

Books Checked Out:

Obasan by Joy Kosagawa

A collection of poems written by Sylvia Plath