Protection
I’m sitting in Bentley’s with my usual stack of books on the table and a man just came over, tapped one finger on the top of the stack, and said, "Your books can’t protect you." He's a Bentley's regular, Tony, and I know that he meant it jokingly, but he doesn't understand the complexity of my relationship with books. You see, we don't joke like that Tony--especially when I'm still having panic attacks about the library falling down around me. I'm not looking for protection. At this point I'm just hoping that the 88 books I have checked out from the library don't organize themselves and come after me in the night.
5 comments:
Umm, that's a little creepy. But I don't think the 80 books will organize and come after you. I mean, think about the meaning that you've given them, the purpose. They're sitting there, on the library shelf, just waiting. Waiting for someone to notice them, waiting for someone to need them, waiting to fulfill their destiny. You were that person. You gave them a reason to be. Imagine how incredibly grateful those books must be. If they're going to organize at all (and unless you have books about Marxist theory, I don't think they will), it will be to throw you a "Kelly's our hero" party. No worries.
88?? only 88??? :) Maya says she will protect you!
Oh, who needs protection now? Huh? Not you. Maybe your dissertation committee needed protection from your intense awesomeness. Maybe THEY are the ones who needed protection. Like protective eyewear so they weren't completely blinded by your brilliance.
Bentley's guy didn't think of THAT, did he? No. No he didn't.
Update your frickin' blog.
WRITE, woman!
I'm with Katie. I actually just got on here to make sure I should unbookmark this, since you're clearly not blogging. But one more request for you to updating your effing blog. It was fun to read.
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