the one where the library takes all my money
A few weeks ago I checked 5 books out of the library. I went to the library's online thing and renewed them all before they were due back, because even though I'd finished 3 of the 5 I was feeling too lazy to take them back. Tonight I went to re-check the new due date and what do I find? Somehow my renewal didn't take, even though the changes were listed before, and now I owe the fucking library almost ten bucks.
You know what this means, of course. I have to drop the books covertly, perhaps under the cover of night and a snazzy black turtleneck, and then steer clear of that particular establishment until I have ten dollars to part with. Because at this moment I do not. Way to f me in the a, Duke Street Library. If I didn't already know how to read I think I'd stay illiterate just to spite you motherfuckers.
This discovery put a damper on what was otherwise a pretty decent day. I talked to Amanda, and discovered that she's going to be home next weekend. I haven't seen her in forever, so I'm seriously excited about that. She's going to get in touch with another friend from high school and we're going to bum around Hampton Park, just like back in the day. And by "the day" I mean... jesus, 5 years ago. Is this what aging is like? You just blink and 5 years are gone? I think I need to invest in some anti-wrinkle cream.
My visit with Mason went well. I realized the other day that I've seen more of my little brother in the past few months that he's been incarcerated than I did when he was a free man. How's that for ten shades of fucked up? But it makes sense, in a way. Apparently I've been to more visits than anyone else, which manages to simultaneously puff me up with a bit of sisterly pride and then make me kind of mad at the rest of our family. I mean, what the fuck? I have to drive almost an hour each way and I've been at every visit that work hasn't made impossible. What's their excuse? Whenever I spend any extended period of time thinking about my family - really combing through the layers of history and memory and gossip - I can't help but get a little depressed. Don't get me wrong. I love my family. But at the same time I feel very apart from them. Not that I'm better or worse, just... different. Separate. It's confusing.
When I came home, Adam presented me with a little surprise: the Serenity graphic novel! I've been itching to get my hands on that thing lately, so it was an awesome treat. My obsession with Firefly/Serenity has really intensified recently, so I'm gobbling up whatever related content I can find with gleeful abandon. Good times.
Tomorrow is work. Eh. At least it's a short shift, and Sundays are usually pretty dead. If I find another sticky, dripping slushie cup tucked between the frames, I swear to christ I'm going to go apeshit on these people. What IS that? Are you five? Clean up after yourself, bitch! I suppose I should count my blessings, though. At least I don't have bathroom duty.
You know what this means, of course. I have to drop the books covertly, perhaps under the cover of night and a snazzy black turtleneck, and then steer clear of that particular establishment until I have ten dollars to part with. Because at this moment I do not. Way to f me in the a, Duke Street Library. If I didn't already know how to read I think I'd stay illiterate just to spite you motherfuckers.
This discovery put a damper on what was otherwise a pretty decent day. I talked to Amanda, and discovered that she's going to be home next weekend. I haven't seen her in forever, so I'm seriously excited about that. She's going to get in touch with another friend from high school and we're going to bum around Hampton Park, just like back in the day. And by "the day" I mean... jesus, 5 years ago. Is this what aging is like? You just blink and 5 years are gone? I think I need to invest in some anti-wrinkle cream.
My visit with Mason went well. I realized the other day that I've seen more of my little brother in the past few months that he's been incarcerated than I did when he was a free man. How's that for ten shades of fucked up? But it makes sense, in a way. Apparently I've been to more visits than anyone else, which manages to simultaneously puff me up with a bit of sisterly pride and then make me kind of mad at the rest of our family. I mean, what the fuck? I have to drive almost an hour each way and I've been at every visit that work hasn't made impossible. What's their excuse? Whenever I spend any extended period of time thinking about my family - really combing through the layers of history and memory and gossip - I can't help but get a little depressed. Don't get me wrong. I love my family. But at the same time I feel very apart from them. Not that I'm better or worse, just... different. Separate. It's confusing.
When I came home, Adam presented me with a little surprise: the Serenity graphic novel! I've been itching to get my hands on that thing lately, so it was an awesome treat. My obsession with Firefly/Serenity has really intensified recently, so I'm gobbling up whatever related content I can find with gleeful abandon. Good times.
Tomorrow is work. Eh. At least it's a short shift, and Sundays are usually pretty dead. If I find another sticky, dripping slushie cup tucked between the frames, I swear to christ I'm going to go apeshit on these people. What IS that? Are you five? Clean up after yourself, bitch! I suppose I should count my blessings, though. At least I don't have bathroom duty.