There is no place more perfect, or more sensual to me than a library. Tucked inside are the souls of the living and the dead, and millions of locks clicking open.
Where else can one find out how to successfully grow their own weed and how to properly swaddle a baby in the same place? Don’t tell me the internet. I am of course enamored with the internet, but a library is climate-controlled and well-sorted out by human hands. There are people there that can give you something solid to hold that can change your world completely. Online one must often slog through seas of coded data, some of it misspelled, some of it rotten.
Unless a librarian showed you a good and proper database to look at, unless she’s pointed you in the direction of that sort of treasure trove, then I can tell you that the internet is breathing.
When I worked in a library, there were several rumors flying around the stacks that some people had fucked, hiding in the stacks. I believe it. If you love books the very buildings seem to hum, and your body vibrates in response. If someone else feels this same excitement, if that old copy of Tartuffe has ruffled their dusty feathers, too…then by all means. Reach your hand out, touch something warm.
My thoughts are odd tonight.
There are treehouses to be seen this weekend (one built based on The Giver, another on Hobbiton).
My chest is dancing, so I’ll warm up that lavender/chamomile thing that Gail suggested I buy. Pop it in the microwave, set it against me. I feel too much, and if I know too much, and analyze my thoughts too much I’ll grow (more) neurotic. I won’t shut up. I’ll chase run-on sentences and try to pawn them off on YOU, dear reader, and that’s not what I want at all.
When I was a girl I was afraid of leeches, because of the movie Stand by Me. Remember? River Phoenix, Wesley from Star Trek, guy from Sliders, and Corey Feldmen jumped into the river with their thick dark blue jeans on, and came with leeches covering their blue-white, goose-pimpled skin. For a girl who practically lived in the woods, my fear was well-founded, and rational. On a sixth grade field trip to John Bryan State Park (near Yellow Springs, Ohio) I pulled a leech off of a kid’s leg. I liked him, in that way, and thought I was doing him some sort of sexy favor. Maybe he’d see me as badass, a backwoodswoman, a tough girl with a pretty face or something. He didn’t. He was grossed out that I dared to pull it off of him (even though it was sucking the hell out of his skinny leg), and that I dared to touch him at all. After he stomped out of the creek, splashing algae-tinged green water all over me, I squeezed the leech and watched the boy’s blood pour out of its small, writhing body.
(told you I was in an odd mood)