This month I went insane. And then I found a missing library
book. I tell you that in advance because things get pretty intense between the two
and I didn’t know if you could handle the suspense.
This month was a record in a string of bad months. I
overdrew my account by mistake – twice. A client yelled at me for something I couldn’t
control, another employee loudly voiced her negative opinions for our website
which she didn’t know I had created, an employee continually called out while
another consistently showed up late. Eventually, this all culminated in me
quitting my job, which is terrifying. I have another job lined up, but still.
Stressful.
To make myself feel better I went to the library, a place
that always makes things O.K. I hadn’t been there in almost 3 weeks so it was definitely
time. I lugged my huge, sturdy library bag full of books to the counter and
started checking in books with my friend, Caterpillar-Chihuahua lady (Translation here). Maybe it’s the luck of the draw, maybe I’m
cursed, but every time I check in or out with this lady there’s a problem. Either
I have an issue with my card or a certain book or she has an issue with dealing
with anyone who is in a better mood than her. Which is everyone.
Anyway, she checked in all of my books, looked at the
computer, looked at my stack of books and then looked at me and said, “Youuuuuuuu
arreeeeee miiiiiiisiiiiing ooooone boooook.”
So, this was an embarrassing situation, especially since
there were people behind me and she had violated the sacred law of libraries by
speaking in a very loud voice that everyone could hear, but then she compounded
the situation by saying, “Yoooou ooooowe the liiiiiiiibrary fiiiiiftyyy
dolllaaarsss iiiiif yooooou cannooooot produuuuuce thaaaat boooook.”
I thought this was curious choice of words. To produce
something implies that I must create it. As if I was supposed to create a nest
of shredded library cards and pop out the book like an egg. I stared at her
imagining this scenario and idly wondering if they had a coop for this sort of
thing when she said:“Iiiiiiiiiiin addiiiiiiiitioooooon, youuuuu maaay noooot cheeeeeeck ooooooutt aaaaany mooooore booooooks untiiiiil youuuuu rettuuuuurn thaaaat oooone oooor paaay fooor iiiit.”
I was barred from the library! My escape! MY SANITY!! I left
the library in a blurry haze. Tears threatened but I refused to let them spill.
Chihuahua lady would probably lick them from my chin as others’ despair and
suffering seemed to be her sustenance and my tears her lifeblood. Let her
starve.
I started looking for that book immediately, starting in my
car. Everything from the cab got moved to the trunk, and everything from the
trunk got moved to the cab. Nothing.
I got home and terrorized my dog with my crazed and
energetic display of domesticity, misguidedly believing that cleaning would
bring my missing book to light. I started with my usual reading spots. Bathroom
was first on the list. I looked through the stack of books, but not with much
hope. Given that the book was about hands on sewing, imagining the practical
application of the subject matter while in the bathroom was just too brutal.
Next was my reading chair, a green striped behemoth of a
chair that my mother-in-law once referred to as “Dr. Seuss’s Throne”. I chose
to take it as a compliment. It wasn’t there or in the cushions of the couch or in
my sewing corner. It wasn’t at my work desk, in the kitchen or mixed in with my
husband’s video games. The book had ceased to be.
The next morning, I received another call from an employee
saying they weren’t coming in. The absolute injustice of being called at 6 am
and being fed such malarkey on top of all the other crap I’d had to deal with
was too much. My brain collapsed like a star and then went super nova. My
emotions boiled over and projectile launched, splattering against anyone who
was in their way. Other people’s problems were as ants and I was Godzilla,
crushing them beneath my clawed feet and breathing fire on their stupidity.
I started throwing things to alleviate excess agitation, as
I seemed to have an abundance of it, and it didn’t stop when I got to my car. I
tossed the contents like a salad. Looking in through the windows must have been
like looking at a blender. I was a whirling dervish and everything else was
helplessly sucked into my vortex.
Finally I exhausted myself and collapsed against the
steering wheel sobbing. Papers floated down around me, released from my
frenetic energy. One landed on my shoulder
and I jerked away from it, brushing it off. It landed on the floor. Next to a
book. The. Book.And then I locked my keys in my car when I got to work.