how do writers drink? all the authors i admire have notorious wine habits or tendencies to go on legendary drug benders (even Stephen King had his coke) (more importantly, do people who go on drug benders call it “going on drug benders”? this sounds somehow wrong), and here i sit, unable to make it through a half-glass of Two Buck Chuck (TBC) without my already loosely tied-together thoughts scattering like balloons on a windy day — balloons filled with important sentences and paragraphs and character motivations from what might’ve been a pretty decent novel. i’m jealous of people who can drink and write. it would be nice to be not fully present for the process, which is 10% joyous charge forward, 90% depressing, sulking backspace.
today the libraries were closed for veterans day, but i had to work anyway, helping with a big project at my branch switching the fiction and non-fiction. do you know how hard it is to move every single book in a library? you would think it would happen in a cheery Mary Poppins sort of way, but this is not how it went, to my dismay. instead it went like this: load every single book in the library onto carts, put every single book in the library on a new shelf, when three quarters done realize there was a horrible miscalculation somewhere, remove every single book in the library from the new shelf and replace on carts, move the entire collection of biographies to another portion of the library, replace every single book in the library on new old shelf. my wrists! my knees!
it’s finally cold here. tonight is the first deep freeze.
deep thought (or maybe not — will re-read tomorrow and assess whether thought actually deep or not): everyone’s always freaking out about what will happen to these young people growing up in front of screens, posting photos of themselves on facebook, talking lewdly to 43 yr old algebra teachers via chat, etcetera, but i learned in a library meeting that teens are already turning away from facebook in droves, and it occurred to me that we need to worry about ourselves more than the young people. the young people will rebel from all these bad habits we’ve inadvertently (or advertently, one might argue) raised them with — just as the children born to conservatives in the 1950s rebelled and went back to the land as soon as they could (yes, and eventually became conservative stuffed shirts themselves, but that doesn’t fit in with my point, so moving on). the kids will move past it. it’s you and i who are tied to our screens for life, having been there at the renaissance of screens, at the start of it all. it’s you and i who will die with a phone pressed to our ears, texting even as loved ones gather around to say goodbye, making a final status update with palsied hands, that last clever thing we want to be known for saying before drifting off to the Great Beyond.
the kids will be fine.