Yesterday I bought a pen from the library.
It’s a little pen, short, and really heavy, and constructed of some tough stuff, I can tell. It’s one of those twisty-bottom pens that turns really smoothly, like it’s pneumatic or something. It doesn’t click at all, and it’s black and has tiny silver flecks in it and the ink is thick and smooth. I love the pen, and it felt good to buy.
See, using the library has always made me feel guilty. No, guilty is entirely the wrong word. It’s just...even though the library has the words “FREE TO THE PEOPLE” emblazoned in five foot letters in marble across the front, I always felt like I should give something back. I mean, sometimes I use the karmatic late fee method (where, if I had returned the books on time, the library wouldn’t be making a profit off of me, but in the past year, I’ve only had late books once).
So I bought the pen. Five dollars, and it’s totally worth it. It’s a really nice pen.
But two weeks ago, I stopped at the bank. I was picking up money for rent since I don’t have checks and for some bizarre reason I can’t pay my rent online or with a debit card. So I picked up and was carrying with me more than $600. Since I was already out of the house, I went to the library. It’s habit. I’m downtown, I’ve got nothing better to do, and the library had the cheapest egg panini you can get in the city. I think I’ll go read some books and eat lunch. And as I’m sitting there in the Crazy Mocha that we have in the first floor of the library, my eyes alight on the donation jar.
And god, with ever fiber I had in me, I wanted to take one of the six hundred dollar bills in my wallet and write “THANK YOU” on it and shove it in that damned plastic pickle container full of ones and quarters.
I told Chris about this, and he said, “I think you should. Not right now, but some day you’ll do it.”
Someday I will.
(In case you’re wondering what my fantastic library looks like, it’s actually quite beautiful.)
In other news, my hair is dark fuschia, I’m writing, Tom Robbins is starting to grow on me, and I have a beautiful new layout which you should really check out. And lastly, the new episodes of Scrubs aren’t that great, but they’re tolerable. They’ve become too aware of themselves, I think. Oh, and I’m still awake from yesterday. But I’m okay with that.
See, using the library has always made me feel guilty. No, guilty is entirely the wrong word. It’s just...even though the library has the words “FREE TO THE PEOPLE” emblazoned in five foot letters in marble across the front, I always felt like I should give something back. I mean, sometimes I use the karmatic late fee method (where, if I had returned the books on time, the library wouldn’t be making a profit off of me, but in the past year, I’ve only had late books once).
So I bought the pen. Five dollars, and it’s totally worth it. It’s a really nice pen.
But two weeks ago, I stopped at the bank. I was picking up money for rent since I don’t have checks and for some bizarre reason I can’t pay my rent online or with a debit card. So I picked up and was carrying with me more than $600. Since I was already out of the house, I went to the library. It’s habit. I’m downtown, I’ve got nothing better to do, and the library had the cheapest egg panini you can get in the city. I think I’ll go read some books and eat lunch. And as I’m sitting there in the Crazy Mocha that we have in the first floor of the library, my eyes alight on the donation jar.
And god, with ever fiber I had in me, I wanted to take one of the six hundred dollar bills in my wallet and write “THANK YOU” on it and shove it in that damned plastic pickle container full of ones and quarters.
I told Chris about this, and he said, “I think you should. Not right now, but some day you’ll do it.”
Someday I will.
(In case you’re wondering what my fantastic library looks like, it’s actually quite beautiful.)
In other news, my hair is dark fuschia, I’m writing, Tom Robbins is starting to grow on me, and I have a beautiful new layout which you should really check out. And lastly, the new episodes of Scrubs aren’t that great, but they’re tolerable. They’ve become too aware of themselves, I think. Oh, and I’m still awake from yesterday. But I’m okay with that.