off my chest

I am a librarian, and I'm in love the very core of what the profession is: helping people find stuff.

The chasm between not knowing an answer or even exactly what the question is and the stuff (stories, poems, how-tos, information...) that answers questions, raises more questions, transports, passes time, uncovers a path, or opens another door can be unsettling and intimidating. Nothing tears at me more than someone paralyzed by that chasm—someone who feels they have a stupid question or that they are stupid because they don't know where to begin. Nothing satisfies me more than helping someone overcome the paralysis and gain the ability to approach the next unknown with more confidence and daring than before.

I took a gamble a couple years ago at the encouragement of an on-again, off-again mentor that landed me in (brace yourself) management. I had somehow gained a reputation of someone who could set things straight, bring order to chaos, in other words: a cleaner. I don't know that there was any real justification to my reputation. I tend to think, instead, that I was a convenient sucker.

I have not enjoyed management, and have tried to get out. I did the work and earned praise for an unwanted job well done. Recent budget conundrums resulted in cuts that, though uncomfortable and scary, oddly gave me hope (cursed hope!) that I might slip, demote, to a plain old librarian position where I would be in charge of no other messes but my own. But, nope to that hope. The supposed mess that I tidied is going away and a new managerial mess has sprouted elsewhere that I am ideally suited for, given my wealth of experience in such things. And the choice was simple: this job or no job. What a lovely, hard-earned reward.

I've been led to believe that the new year will bring me options, but I've been led to believe many things and am burned out on hope. We all know what hope is, right? That warm, lovely, plush designer rug you've curled up on that gets yanked out from under you.

Somewhere inside me is this silly belief that it is possible to land a position that allows me to at least get close enough to the core of what I think is good about my profession to make the other crap bearable. Battling with that whim is the belief that I'm merely cursed with chronic dissatisfaction that comes with the grass-is-always-greener syndrome.

For the time being, it's best to try as hard as possible to find some green grass where I stand.

playing dress up

Dear gob,

I was forced to shop today for costumes to get me through the next two months. If I'm lucky it will only be two months. I really don't enjoy shopping, and the fruits of my labor are not terribly impressive. I know I'll have to do it again soon. Ugh.

Something positive...
My blood type is B positive.

Goodness, I hope these get better.

erin

oh me of little faith

Dear gob,

Can I do this again? Do I have it in me?

I'll try. I make no promises about quality whatsoever. This post is indicator #1 of that.

erin

loves company

I was in the waiting room at the doctor's office today. I was a little late and a little distraught with all that's been thrown at me the last couple weeks.

A mom walked in with her 4 year old daughter, and twin, 2 year old boys. She sat down in an open chair on the opposite side of the room. One of her sons, however, made eye contact with me and slowly made his way over. He stopped right in front of me, completely sober faced and still looking me in the eye, and put his hand on my knee. I chatted with him. A smile flickered, but he just stared, completely quiet. His eye lashes were wet, probably from a recent meltdown.

His mother called to him and asked her daughter to bring him over, but he came right back. Eventually his mom picked him up, and put him on her lap. A short while later, he was playing with his brother at the toy table.

I have no idea why he was drawn to me, but maybe somehow he could tell I was having a rough day, too.

in these crap economic times

...who needs unhindered access to the public library most?

This brought back some unpleasant memories.

I discovered it while researching the pros and cons of fines on library materials—the impact on those in poverty. It showed up in search results because someone had commented that, "[b]eing poor is library fines."

But, you know, what's most important is that people know the rules, be good stewards, be responsible... Never mind the reality of unstable housing/jobs/family life and the fact that a young child has absolutely no control whatsoever over such things. Never mind that fines for an already financially strapped household will more likely result in a parent completeley banning his/her child from checking out any library books (now considered an unnecessary and avoidable cost) than any grandiose lesson of stewardship.