Tag Archives: library

Today is August 10, 2015. I am alive and well.

To begin, I don’t have kids and have not often been around them. I don’t know if I’d be any better in my interactions with them then the parents I see at the library. Yesterday, a mother was screaming, yes screaming in the library, at her four-year-old son “there is no where to play right here.” The boy was spinning around and around with an empty red basket in one hand. Who was he harming? No one. He wasn’t even in the way because he spun in a tight circle, his body gaining momentum as if he could drill a hole through the floor.

There’s a pond in the library. I don’t know what else to call it other than a pond, a body of water on the first floor beneath wide cement stairs that contains no fish, just scattered change from well wishers. The toddlers are fascinated by this. I applaud the parents who let their children touch the water. The children recognize wet. Water drips from their chubby little hands.

I abhor parents that put their child on a leash. They do this buy attaching a back pack, usually in the shape of a monkey, to the child’s back. The monkey’s tail becomes a leash about five feet in length. This contains the child. Just as I think a child should be able to play anywhere that suits their imagination and doesn’t disturb the reality of others, I don’t think children need to be contained in such a way, especially if they’re in the children’s area of the library.

It is creative chaos in the children’s section. There is more than just books. There’s a puppet house with puppets, large building blocks of wood, a canoe shaped item that the kids rock in, some PVC pipe creations ready to be reconfigured, puzzles, computers, desks and chairs. Virtually, a small bit of paradise for children to explore. Let them roam, I say. Let them laugh loudly and thwart the screaming mother’s chastisement…but then remember, I am not a mother.

I regret not having children even though there are many good reasons why I didn’t. First off, I would have to come off all  my psychiatric medications. This would be traumatizing, and I suspect the trauma would have a negative effect on my fetus. Then there is the fact that I’ve never been financially stable. Nor would I want my child to inherit  schizophrenia from me. I do applaud women in my same situation for going for it despite everything. I have met some of these mothers. Their babies are loved and cared for. As adults, these same babies will probably have a great deal of compassion for the downtrodden. I understand it could go another way, but for today, I am hopeful that mothers with mental illness do well by their children. I am hopeful that mother’s without mental illness do well by their children.

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Today is February 4, 2015. I am alive and well.

I have nine minutes to write something with weight. After that, it is time to get ready for work at the library.

Maybe I will write something light, something that can enter my ear, leave an imprint of sound, and then wander to the next room which is silent. The carpet needs the large sound of a vacuum cleaner. Today, I will not vacuum. Today, I will not invite anyone over. A person would sneeze and have to leave, the bottom of their soles thick with cat hair.

My soul settles on my head like a large soft summer hat. My long black hair remains visible. I am thinking of cutting my hair like one thinks to remove flowers from the top of the cake, making it lighter. My curls might have an easier time curling if they weren’t left with extra weight–the weight of long hair.

My soft summer hat is sweet in color, a pale purple. I will wear jeans and a white t-shirt with Converse sneakers after I get off work. To work, I will wear jeans and a black t-shirt with no hat and    boots. My heavy boots keep me in the library. I cannot float amidst the stack of books. I don’t want to float. I want to put the meditation book in its spot–294.34435, C4518h. There is a right spot for everything. I have learned to find the right spot in the library.

Outside the library, I drift at times, missing the chance to sit and dream from a spot that guarantees me purple skies with streaks of red; guarantees me the sight of an elephant on a leash, being pulled by a young girl with a black Mohawk, her smile as wide as my open door.

Today is August 8, 2014. I am alive and well.

I realized that my last blog, i was not well. Out of habit, I typed well. Today I am truly well.

A man approached me in the library. He was a scraggle of someone else. His pants barely circling his hips. Skinny arms reached through sleeves the circumference of donuts. I imagined his lanky hand slipping the one misplaced strand of hair behind his ear which was a lighter black than the color of his neck. Maybe he hadn’t bathed. He wanted to know where the adult movie section was. I thought, he didn’t just ask me that, did he? I said, “do you mean pornography?” “Yes,” he says with no apology, no hesitation like the sock that hangs loose at his ankle. I tell him we don’t have porno here. He asks me where he can find some. What attracted such a man to me? Maybe he liked the way I was tall and could see over crowds. “I don’t know where you find porn,” I say. He thanks me, leaving me with judgement. I don’t like the way he walks.