(no subject)

[dragonlady7]

A Cautionary Tale-- oh, shit, man. That could be me. That's so my weakness.


There needs to be a Netflix only for books. I have a long long list of books I really ought to get around to reading, and yet despite being the daughter of a pair of library addicts, despite having worked in libraries throughout much of my adolescence (but ha, I worked in the back: I didn't shelve or file, I did assessment and collection-building and conservation and repair work, which still doesn't excuse me), I am utterly unable to find my way around a library of any size. (Big or small.)
And so, I am bookless.
It doesn't help that Erie County's library system is in the precise middle of being decimated-- actually more than decimated; I think they're shutting down every third library, more or less, and at the moment they're sort of spinning around in blindfolds and throwing darts at maps to determine which ones, as far as I can tell. Which is what it is, given that none of the branches remotely near me actually had any books in them; I always just went to the Central Library anyway and just used the branch within walking distance to return or renew books, because all my branch had anyway was the YA summer reading list and a few romance paperbacks.

So yeah. I need this to be easier. I need to put up my queue online and have the next one automagically sent to me when I'm done reading the last one, without all that time spent at the library trying to puzzle out the goddamn filing system, and having my usual response of such joy at finding the book I want that I grab everything else on the shelf too and then have to lug it home.

Except it's moot, because I really don't have the time or brainspace to read anything. But still.

I woke early this morning, paranoid (a quiet rustling sound I can't figure out convinced me that the furnace was malfunctioning-- it's not) and for some reason tense, grinding my teeth and worrying over encounters with customers, which upon rethinking had never actually happened, but were dreams. Frustrating, and I had thought to stop it and get up and do some more writing, but by the time I freed myself from entangling semiconscious worries and also blankets (which weren't any kind of conscious, I might point out, though they seemed it) and took a shower, Z was already awake.

Next weekend I think I have the Saturday off. It's the day after my birthday. I am tentatively planning to meet Fiona at the Waterloo outlets near the Thruway-- it's almost exactly halfway between my house and hers, and thus is a doable daytrip. (New York State, by the way, for those of you who don't know, is Too Fucking Big. We could just drop whole swathes of it and be better off for it. I propose compressing the whole thing into a 200x200-mile square, and leaving out the boring bits. Sadly, that would necessitate the obliteration of Fiona's house, so I don't think she'd go for it, but visiting my parents would be way easier.)
I have this ever-increasing list of things I need to buy but don't know where to find. I am absurdly pinning all my hopes on Fiona to help me find all these things, because Fiona is A Shopper and can find stuff. She has this notion that she's going to buy me something for my birthday; I have this notion that I don't care if she gets me anything at all, I just want her to show me where things are so I can throw my money at them, finally.

Comments

[eggplantia5.livejournal.com]

http://www.booksfree.com/