Yeah, yeah.
So I been AWOL for a few months. I hate to admit this, but I let that whole business with the bastard hacker get to me, and somehow I just haven't had the heart nor the stomach for this anymore. LJ turned into a sad place for me, and I just avoided it for a long time. I've peeped in a few times to see what everyone was up to, but truthfully, I haven't really logged in here much since the last post I made in March.
I do realize that it's pretty ridiculous, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I mean, I still "use my words," by way of old-school pen-and-paper journals...but the combination of real-life events (major ones, some splendid, some shitty) and pure dread kept me from coming back here. Between not having as much time for it and feeling like I somehow had to explain myself about all kinds of shit, I managed to guiltily remove myself almost completely from this community. That's a shame, and I will apologize if anyone worried. I'm alright, really. And I don't think I want to explain much, besides what I've already said, so I think I won't.
But I will regale you with a little story about what happened at work today, cross-posted elsewhere:
"Sometimes, my librarian skillz are sorely tested. Well, really, I guess this one sorta has to do with my people skillz too...but anyway, I got a little unnerved at work today.
This man comes in, and immediately I'm thinking, "Aw shit. Not you again." See, this old coot had done already been in twice before, bugging me and my boss about wanting to dedicate a memorial book for some other old coot he knew who died recently. This in itself is not why I was exasperated...I mean, it's certainly a nice gesture and all...but it was just the fact that we had told him you need to go to the main branch, talk to the lady in the office, fill out a form, and then your book gets bought and processed with the little plate in front that says you donated the book in memory of Mr. Old Dead Fart, right? Right. That's how it works.
However, my boss, being the extremely overindustrious people-pleaser/public servant that he is, had just been too patient with the old mofo, and sometimes, really, I think people like him just need someone to talk to, so they keep coming back and making a nuisance of themselves. Most of the time I'm inclined to humor them (although I will say that it totally depends on the person in question...you'll see what I mean in a minute), but sometimes, I just think my boss is just too goddamn nice.
So Mr. Insufferable trudges over to my desk, and starts in about the fucking memorial books again...and my boss just happens to be in the general vicinity, so he walks over and begins explaining AGAIN how it works. The old guy says he's been over to the main branch, but apparently, he's either lying or he just couldn't figure out how to get to the office or something...because he still hasn't filled out the form and he wants Bob to call over there and do it for him. They force your hand sometimes like that.
As if all this wasn't enough to try one's patience...he then proceeds to tell us that the book he wants to memorialize his fallen comrade with is called The South Was Right! (Yes, the title of the book ends in an exclamation point.) The author of this book has also written such illustrious tomes as Was Jefferson Davis Right? (Wait, didn't you just answer that question for yourself in a really exclamatory way?) and Myths of American Slavery (What, no punctuation?!?)
Needless to say, at this point, I could not talk to this racist geezer anymore for fear of completely losing my temper...truly, it is part of a librarian's job to promote tolerance and free dissemination of information, even when the librarian herself does not agree with said information...but goddamn, I just couldn't take any more of his shit. And Bob, poor Bob...he's an old liberal hippie from the Woodstock era himself, and a Yankee to boot, so I just can't imagine that he really wanted to keep obliging this old bastard. I must say, he was remarkably cool...I mean, shit, there were black people all over the place in there. Bob calmly led the old cracker into his office, and then, in an inexplicable and extremely commendable burst of pure professionalism, he just let that old fucker keep talking and telling him how great this book was for about ten or fifteen minutes.
And get this:
He wanted to put not one, not two, but three copies of this book into the library system.
He must have really loved his friend.
But, seriously, I have to say...the saddest part of this whole story is...there are already two copies of that book in our library system.
Jesus Harold Christ. I gotta get outta here soon."
So I'm back, OK? I don't know how permanently or how often, but I have overcome the shit that had overtaken me for awhile.
How y'all doin', anyway? ;)
I do realize that it's pretty ridiculous, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I mean, I still "use my words," by way of old-school pen-and-paper journals...but the combination of real-life events (major ones, some splendid, some shitty) and pure dread kept me from coming back here. Between not having as much time for it and feeling like I somehow had to explain myself about all kinds of shit, I managed to guiltily remove myself almost completely from this community. That's a shame, and I will apologize if anyone worried. I'm alright, really. And I don't think I want to explain much, besides what I've already said, so I think I won't.
But I will regale you with a little story about what happened at work today, cross-posted elsewhere:
"Sometimes, my librarian skillz are sorely tested. Well, really, I guess this one sorta has to do with my people skillz too...but anyway, I got a little unnerved at work today.
This man comes in, and immediately I'm thinking, "Aw shit. Not you again." See, this old coot had done already been in twice before, bugging me and my boss about wanting to dedicate a memorial book for some other old coot he knew who died recently. This in itself is not why I was exasperated...I mean, it's certainly a nice gesture and all...but it was just the fact that we had told him you need to go to the main branch, talk to the lady in the office, fill out a form, and then your book gets bought and processed with the little plate in front that says you donated the book in memory of Mr. Old Dead Fart, right? Right. That's how it works.
However, my boss, being the extremely overindustrious people-pleaser/public servant that he is, had just been too patient with the old mofo, and sometimes, really, I think people like him just need someone to talk to, so they keep coming back and making a nuisance of themselves. Most of the time I'm inclined to humor them (although I will say that it totally depends on the person in question...you'll see what I mean in a minute), but sometimes, I just think my boss is just too goddamn nice.
So Mr. Insufferable trudges over to my desk, and starts in about the fucking memorial books again...and my boss just happens to be in the general vicinity, so he walks over and begins explaining AGAIN how it works. The old guy says he's been over to the main branch, but apparently, he's either lying or he just couldn't figure out how to get to the office or something...because he still hasn't filled out the form and he wants Bob to call over there and do it for him. They force your hand sometimes like that.
As if all this wasn't enough to try one's patience...he then proceeds to tell us that the book he wants to memorialize his fallen comrade with is called The South Was Right! (Yes, the title of the book ends in an exclamation point.) The author of this book has also written such illustrious tomes as Was Jefferson Davis Right? (Wait, didn't you just answer that question for yourself in a really exclamatory way?) and Myths of American Slavery (What, no punctuation?!?)
Needless to say, at this point, I could not talk to this racist geezer anymore for fear of completely losing my temper...truly, it is part of a librarian's job to promote tolerance and free dissemination of information, even when the librarian herself does not agree with said information...but goddamn, I just couldn't take any more of his shit. And Bob, poor Bob...he's an old liberal hippie from the Woodstock era himself, and a Yankee to boot, so I just can't imagine that he really wanted to keep obliging this old bastard. I must say, he was remarkably cool...I mean, shit, there were black people all over the place in there. Bob calmly led the old cracker into his office, and then, in an inexplicable and extremely commendable burst of pure professionalism, he just let that old fucker keep talking and telling him how great this book was for about ten or fifteen minutes.
And get this:
He wanted to put not one, not two, but three copies of this book into the library system.
He must have really loved his friend.
But, seriously, I have to say...the saddest part of this whole story is...there are already two copies of that book in our library system.
Jesus Harold Christ. I gotta get outta here soon."
So I'm back, OK? I don't know how permanently or how often, but I have overcome the shit that had overtaken me for awhile.
How y'all doin', anyway? ;)