Friday, December 19, 2014

Happy holidays, my lovelies!

I just used Shazam to discover That's Christmas To Me by Pentatonix. http://shz.am/t153978259
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Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Transparent: Trailer & Pilot available online

Being a cis female, I don't feel that I can ever speak for a part of the LGBT community that I am not a member of and I will never fully comprehend the struggles of those women and men who are transgender. But I have to admit that, after seeing the trailer, I am excited about this show and look forward to seeing the discourse surrounding it, especially if it educates those formerly unfamiliar with the issues, terms, etc. of the trans* community or at least gives people a reason to do their own research and ask their own questions. I will say, speaking as a member of a different minority (queer female), that I think that truncating curiosity and not allowing ourselves to ask and answer questions, as long as they are asked and answered with compassion and respect, is a good way to never make any progress toward acceptance and equality. By that same token, I'd love to hear what other people think about the show - if they're interested, excited, curious, dismayed, outraged, whatever.


If you are, in fact, interested, then you are in luck! You can check out the pilot episode for free on Amazon right now: GO HERE!

For further reading, check out these two Autostraddle articles:



Until next time, have a lovely life!






Friday, August 8, 2014

At The Speed of Light: Lesbian Speed Dating in the City...

While I had heard of speed-dating before, I had never come across lesbian speed-dating until the day that, seeing an invite on Facebook, something wild possessed me and I found myself signing up for that very thing. I still have no idea, weeks later, why I paid the nominal fee that would commit me to participating in the topsy-turvy mess that was to take place at Chicago's Center On Halsted. Immediately after purchasing my tickets, I'll admit it: I felt a little nervous. Regret kicked in as I imagined myself floundering for something to say to whomever landed in front of me. I wondered how it would be arranged and who I would meet, what I would ask and what I would say. Before worry got out of control, though, I decided to stop thinking about it. My anxious brain would only envision the worst, anyway, and I'd made a decision to approach “Women's Speed-dating” as a positive new experience.   

I should really stop watching so many shows and movies with
cute couples, but...SPASHLEY FOREVER! 
Later, as the date inched closer, I discovered that a friend of mine had also signed up. The fact  that I would have at least one wing-woman, of sorts, to accompany me made my plan to neither worry nor regret the choice to attend that much easier. On July 31st, I hopped the train for the Boystown neighborhood and an hour later, I was waltzing into a room full of familiar and unfamiliar faces – familiar because Chicago's gay community is a small, nearly-incestuous little world and sure enough, I'd seen some of these ladies elsewhere before.


Center On Halsted's third floor waiting area and auditorium is large enough that we could spread out and only talk to each other in our little groups, which sounds like it would defeat the purpose of going somewhere specifically to meet new people, but actually, it made easing into the setting much smoother. My friend, L* and I gave the woman at the front our names and she gave us our numbers and our drink tickets, one each. Let me tell you, that drink was a godsend! L and I laughed at our awkwardness, drank our drinks and then laughed in the face of our awkwardness! People we already knew walked by and said hello, and then, time had passed and we were suddenly seated at a long table with strangers sitting across from us.


It began a bit awkwardly, and not just because I am awkward. In the role of hostess (or in this case, hostesses) were the ladies of a local comedy troupe, and they each performed a short stand-up routine before calling the event to order and attempting to explain the way things would work. It all seemed simple enough. We would talk to the person in front of us until one of the emcees called time and then we would all move to the left to talk to...the exact same person?

 One of my fellow participants raised her hand and one by one, questions arose and were answered -- but it all seemed very trial-and-error, as if even the hostesses were sort of making it up as they went along. That was okay, though, because they did eventually figure it out: only one side would move while the other remained stationary. But wait! Then people wanted to know how they would go about meeting someone in their own line, whichever side of the table they were on. "That's what the mingling session is for," the emcee announced. Fair enough, I guess, except the reason many of us came -- or rather, as I can only speak for myself, one of the reasons that speed-dating seemed like a cool idea to me was that I wasn't sure I could ever approach someone I didn't know without going utterly blank and forgetting to breathe. "Mingling" would require me to approach someone...if I wanted to meet her. It seemed like an oversight to me to not consider the socially anxious demographic, but it seemed like a small price to pay for the rules to be clearer and the "dating" to commence.

And so it did -- begin, that is. From that point on, with the exception of one other stop-and-start-again succession to clear up what the signal for "time to play musical dates" would be (in this case, the lights being dimmed was our cue to wrap it up and move on), the next 45 minutes (give or take) was spent with a new woman every two minutes. As anticipated, I found that my own difficulty lay in thinking of what to say on the spot. But there was no time to dwell on what thoughts I floundered with on the tip of my tongue -- and eventually, I found myself just jumping into a couple of regular questions: "What brings you here?" "Have you ever done something like this before?" or glancing down at the question suggestions placed at each seat: "If you were a super-hero, who would you be?" 

When it was all over and time for the "mingle" session, I went back to hanging out with the people I knew. I wasn't the only one. Many people seemed to gather into their same clusters. As for choosing which "dates" you would like to spend more time with, it wasn't as private as I had hoped it would be. Each lady had a number and each number, a corresponding envelope that sat along a table in the hall. If you liked someone, you could leave them a note in their envelope. But with everyone hanging around the envelope table, I felt a little exposed -- especially when someone I was leaving a note for came around the corner just as I was about to slip it into her envelope, which I proceeded to do anyway, but quickly, flustered and blushing like one does. I've read about other speed-dating events that allowed you to go online later and leave messages or choose the numbers or names you like via a web-survey, which the organizers would then use to potentially match people. If A liked B and B liked A, it would be a match and they would both be notified, but not if B liked A but A liked C, instead. Something like that -- but I suppose every event is different. 

Nevertheless, it was an interesting experience and maybe, with the promise of clearer instructions and a more private matching system, I would even do it again. During the mingling session, I even made a couple of new acquaintances who could potentially become friends. That alone is worth the price of admission.

A couple of other notes on the evening's pitfalls: With everyone sitting along the same table, close together and  in an enclosed space, the conversations ended up overlapping and the effect was that it sounded like a middle school cafeteria or a crowded nightclub, with us shouting our questions at each other and struggling to hear the answers. And finally, not really a con (but definitely not a pro): as my friend and I got into the elevator to leave the Center and the whole speed-dating shenanigan behind, one of the women I had left a message for got on the elevator...with another very bold woman from the event, who was already practically nibbling on and whispering in her ear. Um...awkward! Oh well. All in all, a multi-faceted experience that, in the end, makes for a good story. And that's really all I needed.



Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Pop Culture Gush: Shipping Triles

Those who know me well know my obsession with a certain Canadian teen drama that has spanned pretty much my entire life. All the bad acting doesn't seem to ever matter when the characters are so compelling (before you fellow fangirls lynch me, I know...it's not all bad acting) and the stories are just so heartfelt. I don't really have a full explanation of why I love it so much, but Degrassi just makes me happy. And sad, but mostly happy. And sad is just happy for deep people, anyway. Heh. But anyway, my obsession has taken a new turn following this season's finale. Spoiler alert: TRILES!!!

Miles went gaga for nerdy cello player, Maya.
I think what is making me especially happy about this is the way it came about and how I've never seen anything like it on television before. All these dramas will have the girl who has been dating boys all along and she suddenly finds herself interested in another girl. But I have never - NEVER - seen it the other way around. No one has ever tackled male bisexuality or male sexual fluidity that I know of, unless you count the second and a half that Blaine thought about dating Rachel on Glee or how Jack on the 90s drama, Dawson's Creek originally dated Joey briefly before coming out. It's pretty different, though.

All this time, we've been seeing Miles and Maya break up, reconcile, break up again. And all this time, he seemed pretty crazy about her, going to any length to get her back. But now that they're off again, it seemed like the writers decided it was time to revisit the crush that Tristan, Maya's best friend, seemed to have on Miles when they all headed to Paris last spring, before Maya and Miles got together. Tristan had kissed Miles back then, too, and I'll hand it to Miles -- even when he was into Maya, he never overreacted in a homophobic way to Tristan's advances. He was always sweet about them, which is something else you rarely see on TV. It's such a tired old cliche that the straight guy freaks when the gay guy leans in for a kiss, so Miles was pretty refreshing in this way, too.

So anyway, the season 14 finale had Miles and Tristan waiting out the storm in Miles' family's mansion, alongside his sister, Frankie and her boyfriend/Miles' best friend, Winston. To pass the time, they ended up playing charades and later, a hide-and-seek-like game called Murder. During Charades, Tristan is batting his eyelashes and flirting with Miles like crazy and Miles is taking it all in, obviously flattered by the attention. These two boys have the prettiest eyelashes and were giving each other the cutest smirky glances, so I was DYING for them to just make-out already. And then, when they were hiding during the game of Murder, the heavens heard my cry and granted my wish!

The best thing was that, when Winston caught them kissing, Miles was still smirking about it, like "so what?" and later, when Tristan thought it was a one-time thing and told Miles it was okay, Miles corrected him. They don't know where it's going, but it looks like it is definitely going somewhere! No lie, I am totally shipping these two and I don't care if I sound like a 15 year old.


It almost makes up for last season's painful finale. But, er, not quite. Degrassi, you still have a lot of work ahead of you for that.



Monday, July 28, 2014

[[Turn To You: A Novella]] -- PART TWELVE

Betsy

I was feeling a little down and out when Glenn came over to see Ben the next day. I had already called Asha twice with no answer and she hadn't called back. I felt idiotic. I wanted to know how things went, what Rhonda had told her and most of all, I wanted her to answer some questions for me. 
Ben was slumped in my brown beanbag chair reading my latest issue of Sassy and I was pacing to the sounds of Cyndi Lauper on the radio. I was sure I was about to drive him bonkers, but Ben was pretty polite. He remained quiet and flipped the page of the the magazine. Over the time we'd spent together, Ben had started to feel like family - the brother I'd never had. It was nice, but since we sometimes argued for use of the bathroom or I found him using my nail polish I wasn't about to admit it to him. 
"Betsy," Ben said in an even tone, "please calm down. You're going to make yourself sick with worry. You know, that literally can happen. Give the girl time."
"Aughhhh!" I growled, annoyed. 
"Glenn's coming over later. Maybe you guys should practice or something. You have that gig later this week. And didn't you say Asha wants The Windows to play at her prom. Shouldn't you get the girls together to practice, then?"
"The problem," I hissed, "is that I have no idea what Asha wants now. Does she want me to play music for her big night with Todd? Does she want to be my friend? Is there...gods-help-me-for-hoping, but is there maybe something else she'd like to be? Don't you see, Ben? I'm going nutty!"
"Yeah," he said. "You're cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, alright."
I glared at him. The door to the bedroom flew open just then and Glenn waltzed in.
"Do you know what your mom just asked me?" Glenn said. "She wanted to know if I was sleeping over?"
"Sheesh," Ben said. "She's come a long way, baby." 


I just slumped to the floor and put my head down on a heap of my clothes. Bad idea. Something smelled like sour milk and I gagged, sitting back up. I got up and threw myself on the bed instead, burying my head under a pillow and screaming into the mattress to muffle me.
"What's with her?" Glenn said.
"Two words. Asha Campbell," Ben said.
"What did she do to her?" Glenn said.
"Nothing. I think maybe that's the problem."
I uncovered my head to glare at them.
"You know I am right here. I can hear you both."
"Then you tell me," Glenn said, turning to me with a hand on one hip. "What happened?"
"She went on a double date with Asha and her boyfriend," Ben said, shaking my magazine in the air to emphasize each word.
"Um, Ben? He's asking me!" I said through clenched teeth.
"Sheesh," Ben said. "Crabby!"
I exhaled loudly. 
"Drama queen," Glenn whispered to Ben and I just growled.
"I went out last night," I said finally. "And yes, it was with Asha and her stupid jerk of a boyfriend."
"Wow that is mature," Glenn said.
"I wasn't finished," I said. "Asha brought her cousin - sort of like a date for me."
"Yikes. Guess that was basically her way of blowing you off? An 'I-just-wanna-be-friends' statement?" Glenn guessed.
"I thought so at first, too," I said. "But then we had this moment. Asha and I, I mean."
"Now you're just confused?" Glenn finished my thought.
"Yes," I said.
"And she can't get ahold of Asha," Ben said.
"So I can't get any answers," I concluded.
We all sighed.
"I'm sorry sweetie," Glenn said, coming to my side and plopping down next to me. He leaned over until his head was on my back. "Maybe we should go out. Do something. Get our minds off our problems." 
He looked over at Ben, who was probably thinking about the rift between himself and his parents. I felt really bad for being cross with him. It made me think that maybe it was a good idea to get out of myself for awhile.
"Let's go downtown to the juice bar and maybe go walk around the beach." 
They both looked at me like I'd sprouted antlers. I probably deserved that. I'd been the mopey one more often than not lately and for me to suddenly suggest leaving my bedroom, much less doing something, must have come as quite a shock.
"Quit looking at me like that," I finally said. "You're right. We need to get up, get out of here. Songs aren't going to write or play themselves and I know I need more inspiration than these four walls." They were still gaping at me, so I said, "Let's go, let's go!"
They hopped up and marched like soldiers toward the door, perfectly synchronized.
"Very funny," I said before I followed them. 
I didn't drive, since we could walk from my home down to the lakefront shops faster than I would've been able to find parking there. You could often tell the tourists from the residents by their souvenir-shop T-shirts. Glenn and Ben liked to make fun of those, but I felt an odd sense of protectiveness toward tourists - wacky, confused people just going with the flow in a place where they clearly did not quite belong.
"I'm thinking that we should call Heather and everyone tonight and go ahead and set up practice," Glenn said. "For Her-Whom-We-Shall-Not-Name's prom."
"I don't even know if we're playing or not," I said. "And anyway, even if she did still want us to, how do I know the band will want to?"
"That's why we call Heather," Glenn said. "And we'll just consider it a potential gig - with the idea that if it falls through, we can just find another. Practice is never a waste of time, is it?" 
Glenn's words rang true, of course. It did make sense to be prepared either way. 
"We call her then, but when do we find time to practice?" I said. "Between school and work and homework? And this week we have the junior and senior class trips?"
"There have always been hurdles, Betz," Glenn said, placing his hand on my shoulder.  "We jump over them. Remember?"
"Plus," Ben said, "you get the chance of possibly impressing Asha with your musical stylistics and your super-suave, super-cool on-stage persona."
I had to laugh at that.
"Right," I said. "I'm sure that'll charm the straight girl into magically falling in love with me."
"You never know," he said with a shrug.  
We continued down the beach and back up the boardwalk. We watched a couple on roller skates whiz by and Glenn and Ben ogled some guys playing volleyball. 
"Why don't you go play with them?" I said.
"Really?" Ben said.
"You want to?" Glenn asked him.
"Sure! You want to come, Betz?"
"That's okay. You guys go and enjoy yourselves. I'm just going to go and check out some of the shops. My mom's birthday is in two weeks, so maybe I'll get a head start on gift-buying or just get some ideas. You two have fun."
"Aw, but Betsy! You've been depressed! We don't want to abandon you in your hour of need," Glenn said.
"You're not," I said. "Promise. I am ditching you guys because there is plenty of time for playing chaperone to a melancholy teenager and not a whole lot of chances to play volleyball with a bunch of hard bodies in Speedos. Seriously. Go!"
Glenn and Ben gave me excited smiles and then ran down the beach to where the guys were gathered around the net.
I headed up the boardwalk, feeling only a bit lonely. I could have
gone home and read a book or gone to the small, two-movie theater. Either of those things might have made me feel slightly better. But only slightly. It occured to me that I was exactly where I had been before I'd met Asha - broken-hearted, lonely, alienated. I was all the things that Callie had left me, but this time it was my own fault. Hell, maybe it was my fault with Callie, too. Maybe I was too boring, too predictable for her. That actually made sense. Callie had always been explosive and I was sort of...like a dormant volcano. I knew it, but couldn't really change it much. Not without changing me, which I wasn't willing to do. I was the girl who read books, saw movies, occasionally took on volunteer work or drove other people's kids to school. I fixed cars sometimes, made model airplanes, watched cartoons. I made good grades and didn't smoke or do drugs. I only drank for self-destructive purposes and really hadn't even done that until after Callie had hit the road. I was not a terribly exciting person. But I wanted to be. Why couldn't that be enough?
I saw in the window of a little boutique a pair of earrings like the ones that Asha had given me. They were beautiful, but I couldn't wear them. I knew it was lame and kind of weird but I decided that I needed to know where we stood before I could show them off. I wanted to be able to say where and from whom I got them and be certain that it was accurate. I guess what I really wanted was to be able to say "my girlfriend gave me these," but wasn't sure I ever would.
I wandered into the store to look for something for my mom. There were pendants made of bone china that, for an extra sum of money, they would put on a charm bracelet, necklace or earring. I wished there were two because my mom wasn't the type to wear mismatched earrings.  I looked at the purses and remembered that she had mentioned needing a new wallet. I walked over to where their designer wallets were on display. They had some pretty ones - one with dyed leather binding in various colors, ones made of plastic or denim. I still couldn't find anything I was sure she'd like. The store also had scented candles, Polaroid cameras, unusual stationary and other little knick-knacks. Still, I didn't find anything there. 
Next door there was a lovely metal clock in the window along with ceramic animals. I knew that I would never get my mom ceramic animals. The perpetual klutz, I'd end up breaking anything like that in the house. Then I passed a place called The Artist Store and was intrigued. I went inside and found things like paints, easels, wooden palettes, canvases -some framed and some not. That's when I remembered - it was a faint memory only, but I remembered - when my mom used to paint. I have a vague recollection of coming across some of her paintings - some of them my own image - in our attic one night when I'd gone looking for some old doll furniture for a project I was working on. I never knew why she had stopped painting, but she was actually really good. 
I let my fingers rest over all the acrylic and oil colors. They were all so brilliant, and I wondered if the paint would come out of the tubes in as bright a hue. However, I decided to get my mom a kit of the most basic paints and, as a bold gesture, a framed canvas to work on. It was only partly selfish, because I wanted to see what the paints looked like and how an older, more experienced painter might work. I also liked the idea of giving my mom a gift that brought a bit of creativity back to her life. 
I purchased the gifts and decided to head back home, where I went on a search for tape, wrapping paper and ribbons and set about wrapping my mom's birthday gift. At four I started to make dinner - chili and cornbread - and when everyone got in, we all had dinner together. I was still in another world, thinking too much about the past few days and those ahead.  
After dinner, Glenn left and Ben and I did homework at the kitchen table while my mom watched television in the front room. I kept hoping Asha would call, but she never did and, after my homework and shower, I just went to bed. 
We had to be at school the next morning early for a field trip. Our History class was going on a field trip - the last of the year before exams - to a historic plantation where people in costumes dressed up in colonial garb and reenacted Eighteenth Century life. Ben sat with me at the back of the first activity bus. We were early because we'd skipped breakfast and gotten a ride with my mom on her way to work. We kept looking out the window for Glenn's car, but as other students started to show up it was harder and harder to spot him in the crowds. Our bus was getting full by 6:30am.
"If he doesn't show up soon, you know Mr. Gregory is going to make us scoot over and let someone else sit with us!" Ben said. The prospect of having to share the back seats with anyone else from our class was upsetting and I started getting panicky. I'd really hoped this day would go by smoothly, without any major harassment from my classmates and I'd be able to enjoy butter churning demonstrations and keep my mind off Asha. But suddenly things were looking dire.  
"Wait!" Ben said.  "There he is!" I jumped up and looked over his shoulder at where he was pointing. There was Glenn, walking across the parking lot in hot pink leather pants and a David Bowie T-shirt, Care Bears lunch box in hand.  I was so relieved I pushed the window down and yelled out to him. 



"Hey! Glenn! Get over here!" I shouted. He saw me, waved and started jogging toward the bus. When he made his entrance, I stood up and let him sit next to me on the window side. 
"What," I said, giving him the once-over, "are you wearing?"
"I figured if I was gonna get beat up by jocks, it was gonna be for something good," he said. I laughed. 
"I'm so glad you're here," I admitted. "It wouldn't be the same without you."
"I brought you something," he said and he produced a thermos from his lunch box. "Sip carefully."
I sniffed it instead and blinked. It was definitely Coke and it was definitely spiked.
"Is that rum?" I whispered.
"Yep," he said proudly.
"Glenn Christopher Balaban!" I hissed. "What has gotten into you? We could get expelled!"
"We're not going to because no one will know," he said and Ben happily took the thermos as it was offered to him. He sipped and handed it back. Glenn pushed it in my face.
"I don't know," I said. "My mom is really trying and she's been great so far. If I got in trouble, though..."  I let my voice trail off.
"You won't as long as you're careful. C'mon, this is hardly enough to get us drunk. We'll just start the day off...a little buzzed."
I grimaced.
"Ok," he said. "Suit yourself."  He shrugged and started to bring it back to his lips, but I stopped him with one hand on the thermos and an exasperated sigh. He beamed and handed it over, then bounced on the seat a little with excitement. 
"This is gonna be such a fun day!" he said.


Sunday, July 27, 2014

What drives you?

I've been giving this question a lot of thought lately. What drives me? I think about all the things in my life "drive" touches -- drive, meaning ambition, motivation. I would definitely like to move up and get a chance to do something different, take more responsibility, get to be more creative and have that pay my rent and put food on my table. I actually hope to be well on my way into getting my MLS next year, and maybe even be working in a different positon. I like where I work -- two suburban libraries, one award-winning for its outstanding resources and the other nestled snugly in the heart of a college town's downtown. But admittedly, I've grown tired of telling people that I'm a shelver. I can't imagine what they think, but I feel like -- on paper -- it just looks like all I have the skills to do is put things in alphanumerical order, which doesn't account for all the knowledge about libraries that I've gained having worked in them for nearly 9 years. 

Or to patrons, I might say that I am "just a shelver" -- to explain why I can't help them with everything, though I want to. Wish I could. But I have to do this other thing, the thing I get paid for. Which is lovely, in its way: placing the books back in order. Reading their spines and covers from time to time.


I'm not saying that I want to be a librarian in case Rachel Wiesz shows up.
But I'm not saying that idea hasn't fueled fantasies. ;-P


As for what drives me, I will say that this does -- writing, reading, literacy and the idea of libraries as this growing cultural hub that can bring people together. I always wanted to be a writer and I still do -- I've written novels, so far unpublished, that are in the editing process and I blog when I can. But I know that my motivation and discipline waxes and wanes and I am someone who needs that "day job" to supplement a writing career; in 2006, when I started as a shelver in Skokie, I started to feel like I'd found what I wanted to do besides writing. Getting to chat with patrons about what books they like and help them find things always feels great, and I think I would eventually like to be the person who comes into more rural libraries and makes them a little more...hip, I guess? Skokie has all these resources and has lectures, movie nights, computer classes -- things that I know it might take a bigger budget to do, but I'd like to help rural libraries get grants and more resources and find creative ways to bring people together for open, safe discussions of everything from books and movies to politics and the job market. But I don't entirely know how to get from point A, life as a library shelver, to point B, life as a super-librarian, able to smash through research roadblocks in a single bound.


And then there's that other nagging thought: that the thing that drives me doesn't drive me enough? Because what really drives me is this desire to write. Really write -- like, always. Give in to my characters and let them lead their lives to the detriment of mine. But I feel like I would be so happy: sitting in coffeeshops, staring out as clouds turn to rain turn back to clear blue skies, or sitting in sunny kitchens from dawn to dusk and just leading this nice, literary life. I remember when I had that, briefly, before I left the home of my parents, before I went to college, before I got a job or two, before I surrounded myself with a bustling city. Is this what is meant by a mid-life crisis? Because I have been flashing back more and more to the warm, outstretched hand of the first summer after high school and all the times I walked down Yellowhammer Road, deep in thought, inhaling the green, fresh-mowed grass, the scent of rain in the air and the fragrance of honeysuckle. The times I woke early - yes, me! The perpetual night owl! - and drank coffee while I wrote for hours and hours, then took a break to read, then went back to writing. I'd forget to eat! I'd forget everything else until finally, my stomach would be nearly deafening with its growls and I would have to step away, find a breaking off point. But then I would be in a haze of thinking about my story until I could get back to it. I miss being in the country, believe it or not, though I would miss the city, too, if I were away from it. I think I miss the quiet, and the feeling of so much time and potential ahead of me. Maybe I am looking for a balance: the quiet, natural surroundings and the time mixed with the pulsing energy of the city with all its unpredictability. I'm taking advice on how to accomplish this. 


Tell me. I'm open.


Vindication

You do not understand.  

You simply do not get it. Call me the isolationist. Sapiosexual. No, BIBLIOsexual!  Call me crazy cat lady. Look at my glasses and write me off as a stereotype. Go too far in the opposite direction, overlook me and my occasional genius and assume I am not good enough. Not smart enough.  Not organized enough. Too afraid of dust. But you do not understand. 

To work in a library and do what I dream, I would walk the earth. I would scour the globe with blistered feet and only the literary characters in my head as companions. To find a library that would have me, that would propel me, that would honor my creativity and curiosity, I would settle into some backwoods nowhere. "No man is an island," you say? Well I am no man! Put that in your pipe and smoke it, John Donne