Library Life
"Is it really that bad there [at your job]?" He asked.
I guess, in the grand scheme of things, it's technically not.
I've been reading a book entitled "Quiet, Please: Dispatches from a Public Librarian" by Scott Douglas.
It's made me think. In a way, it's refreshing to read that someone else, a guy about my age who even went through library school, asking "Is this the job for me, or did I pick it because it's all I know?" And it's nice to know that, despite everything, he too gets bored and does non-work things and wonders if he can handle being a librarian. That, despite being paid well, he was still questioning his job and his place in the library.
I do that daily.
Sometimes I think I'm slowly going crazy. I see the same people day after day and deal with the same problems day after day and it gets to you, ya know? I want to tell the kids to go home and get a hobby. I want to tell the parents to quit telling their kids what to read and let them read what they want. I want to tell teachers to check our titles before they send kids to us to get books that we don't have. I want more and better books and answers as to why it takes so long to get us books.
In all honesty, I've wondered if I should quit.
Yeah, losers quit. Failure is not an option.
Blah blah blah blah.
I wonder, too, if I should just have a part time job. I feel like I could get my life back if I did that.
I want to paint again, but I don't.
Why?
I don't want anyone to see my pitiful art.
I want to quilt, but I cannot see any designs in my head.
I want to write, but the words, although in my brain, vanish when I try to put them down in print. And I don't want anyone to say what I write stinks. That, despite being articulate, that my writing portrays me as a simpleton.
I like to think I'm simple, but not a simpleton. I may, in my mind, weigh a ton, but I'm not a simpleton.
Anyways, life is, techinically, not bad. It was during college, from my various roommates, I learned to complain. Truly, one does pick up bad habits at college.
I have no inspiration.
I have a bunch of felt I could use to make new characters for storytimes, but I just . . .
I don't want to. They don't appreciate them.
Hmph.
oh well.
Just suck it up and deal.
I guess, in the grand scheme of things, it's technically not.
I've been reading a book entitled "Quiet, Please: Dispatches from a Public Librarian" by Scott Douglas.
It's made me think. In a way, it's refreshing to read that someone else, a guy about my age who even went through library school, asking "Is this the job for me, or did I pick it because it's all I know?" And it's nice to know that, despite everything, he too gets bored and does non-work things and wonders if he can handle being a librarian. That, despite being paid well, he was still questioning his job and his place in the library.
I do that daily.
Sometimes I think I'm slowly going crazy. I see the same people day after day and deal with the same problems day after day and it gets to you, ya know? I want to tell the kids to go home and get a hobby. I want to tell the parents to quit telling their kids what to read and let them read what they want. I want to tell teachers to check our titles before they send kids to us to get books that we don't have. I want more and better books and answers as to why it takes so long to get us books.
In all honesty, I've wondered if I should quit.
Yeah, losers quit. Failure is not an option.
Blah blah blah blah.
I wonder, too, if I should just have a part time job. I feel like I could get my life back if I did that.
I want to paint again, but I don't.
Why?
I don't want anyone to see my pitiful art.
I want to quilt, but I cannot see any designs in my head.
I want to write, but the words, although in my brain, vanish when I try to put them down in print. And I don't want anyone to say what I write stinks. That, despite being articulate, that my writing portrays me as a simpleton.
I like to think I'm simple, but not a simpleton. I may, in my mind, weigh a ton, but I'm not a simpleton.
Anyways, life is, techinically, not bad. It was during college, from my various roommates, I learned to complain. Truly, one does pick up bad habits at college.
I have no inspiration.
I have a bunch of felt I could use to make new characters for storytimes, but I just . . .
I don't want to. They don't appreciate them.
Hmph.
oh well.
Just suck it up and deal.