21 February 2010

In the Beginning....

I'm having a difficult time posting. There's a sharp edge to my attitude today and I don't particularly feel like spewing bitter venom in the general direction of the select and special people who might read here. On the other hand, maybe I do. Who cares.

Maybe if I go meditate before I type any more . . . let's see.

I turned in all my library books today. Almost all. A boycott of sorts. But not of the library. Of the books themselves.

It is so odd that I've worked at the library for over five years now and I've never read less. Well before I learned to read, I probably read less, but not by much.

I check out more than my share of material. I just never read any of it. Or hardly any. I wonder why this is so.

Before I came to work here, the distinction of 'books I never got around to reading' fell only to those I'd buy. I was a rabid library user. We always had piles and piles of library books, movies and Cd's around the house. When I came across a library book I adored and simply had to own, I'd go to my local book store and buy it. But then never read it again, or never even finish it the first time. There was some thing about knowing it would always be there, that book I bought. No hurry reading it because it had no due date. The piles and piles of library material, on the other hand, had to be returned one day, so there was more urgency to get them read. Therefore, read I did, while the books I paid good money for stood silent on my book shelf, collecting cobwebs and inferiority complexes.

My mind is pretty sharp. Can't slip anything past me. It knew the difference between something I hold for a limited period of time, and something I hold for 'like' infinity.

Then I went to work at the library and my head still knows the difference. It knows that the library is a virtual extension of my own book shelves. I can pretty much get my hands on them whenever I want to. (Assuming we own them to begin with and that they haven't been stolen or 'weeded' away.) So there's no hurry getting them read. No urgency, once again.

Why does my head need some kind of deadline or boundaries before it will jump into action? This confounds me. And frankly, pisses me off.

Another question I have, seemingly unrelated in nature: Why share?

Close your eyes and think back with me....high school, college....remember when someone passed a joint in your direction? Or some other form of some other form of a mind altering substance? That shit was not cheap on a broke college student's budget. Why was every one so eager to share? And if you were not inclined to participate, instead of looking at it as 'more for me,' why would people give you a hard time for not taking part? Suspecting all along that it wasn't genuine generosity, I always thought it was because it made them feel like whatever they were doing must be okay if we are all doing it together. (Boy, that was a bumpy sentence....) That there was a silent social reassurance when people joined in. This is not a judgement on one substance or the next, but there must have been some sub (or even straight up) conscious guilt wafting around the van with the smoke curls. (Is that conscious or conscience?)

If someone declined said invitation, it was an indictment of some sort, on the activity or the user himself. I was known to decline on occasion and I always wondered why people took it so personally.

Now, fast forward three kids, a long marriage and a grandson. Why do I feel the need to share? I'll read a book I find interesting, intriguing or, God Forbid, edgy and the next thing I know, I'm recommending it to someone. This goes for music, movies, restaurants. Why is it important to me that people partake in and approve of the same social, recreational activities as I do? Do I receive my validation this way? I must be okay, if every one I love most is also watching Frasier and listening to The Beatles? Reading Martha Beck or eating at Gasperetti's? Do I judge my friends by how similar their preferences are to my own? Can't I just have my own favorites and leave it at that? Why do we care? Or is it just me?


I recently recommended some reading/listening material to some one I love and then later was sorry because it just wasn't for him. It was an energy drain on his enthusiasm. His natural optimism. Which begs the age old question, what the fuck? (Remember that edgy attitude I mentioned earlier.....) I admit I found the (library) material in question, intriguing, thought-provoking. Even conversation inducing, but they was by no means anything special involved in the writing or the perspective.

Am I a loser if no one else likes the same books as me? (Don't answer that out loud.)

Why are we so eager to be agreed with? Approved of?
Except when we aren't and the last thing we want is to be agreed with and approved of.

Is it out of love that we share? Is it Show and Tell, trying to be the kid with the coolest gadget in front of the class today?

If I play mmorphenpowerranger type games online, why do I feel better if I suck everyone else in with me? Why is it better this way?

I need to be more selective of my recommendations and perhaps, the material itself. This post is my apology....about the inferior reading material....

...and the beginning of some profound cosmic questions, all of which I expect to receive some profound cosmic answers...to.