One of my college professors told us that she always assumes the lives of her students are at least a million times more complex that what she sees in the classroom.  That seems to me a fair way to judge anyone you come into contact with.  So, I don’t mean to make anyone’s interests or motivations or circumstances sound simpler than they are.  But, sometimes in relation to the other students in my program, I feel guilty that my mind is divided by other strong interests and is not adequately focused on theology and philosophy.

I feel this more in the Summer than at any other time.  I love what I study, but the free time I have now is the best opportunity I have to work on the other things that engage me.  And not that my fellow students do not have varied interests.  For grad students, we’re a fairly grounded and well-rounded group.  But, in the hierarchy of things that interest me, there are at least two battling for the top spot.

I’m not spending the Summer in a reading group battling Kant.  And when I’m not busy with school during the semester, I am not doing extra reading just to flesh out my knowledge.  I know this all sounds perfectly reasonable, but grad school is not that reasonable.  It’s highly competitive and if you like what you study enough to go for a PhD, then you should want to pursue it to its ends.  Instead, I’m distracted.

Sometimes when I talk to my classmates, I feel like I’m not sufficiently intellectually curious.  I do my work to get it done an then I spend the rest of my time doing other things.  That’s not really the life of an academic, at least not a successful one.  Really, I shouldn’t have time to blog as much as I do or work as much as I do.  And I shouldn’t constantly be frustrated that there isn’t enough time to pursue my other interests; I should be frustrated that there isn’t enough time to pursue my main interest in theology.

The other interests I keep alluding to are all variations on a theme: writing.  Blogging, journaling, writing fiction, reading fiction, and even reading critical work on fiction.  I was an English major before I was a Religion major, and my whole academic life leading up to the point where I took my first theology class and was struck by lightening like Luther was geared toward English.  Since Elementary School, it had been my thing, and then theology usurped it after only one class.  But, that old interest didn’t go anywhere.

Now it’s Summer and I’m not on the third floor of the library, walking through the theology section. I’m on the seventh floor browsing the fiction and the collections of essays.  I’m pulled there and when I look through the books, I think, what if I’d gone this direction instead? I don’t regret having chose theology.  It feels more important to me (to my person and to the world) than the study of English (sorry, Tom, if you’re reading this), but it still engaging me on such a deep level that I cannot let it just rest inside of me.  That’s mostly what I’ve done for the last four years.   I misjudged even my own passion for it.

My frustration is that there’s not enough time to pursue English and yet it distracts me from putting my full attention on Theology.  I can’t be the person I want to be in either, so I get nowhere in my fiction and I’m not the religion scholar I want to be.  And it’s not just about school; I think my full academic life will be full of this tension.  I don’t know how I’ll work it out or if I ever will.  Sometimes I wonder if after so many years in grad school, I will end up a writer instead.  Assuming I can pay my student loans, that doesn’t seem so bad, but I don’t know if that would satisfying my interest in theology.

I know that there could hardly be a better problem to have.  The frustration is real, but it is fueled by the passion I have for all of my interests.

I am one of those people who feels like a complete disaster most of the time. Maybe that’s an overstatement–the complete part–but I do have the pretty constant feeling that I’m not prepared enough, not put together enough, and not doing enough. It’s not to say I’m tortured by this feeling. I hate it sometimes, but mostly I just accept it as part of life. The second the feeling of edginess passes, I am bored and directionless.

I work under the assumption that there are people in this world who don’t feel this way. I like to think there are people who show up to every occasion feeling calm and confident. I’d like to think that there are people who say things like, “I did my best,” and aren’t secretly thinking in the back of their minds that they could have actually done better. People whose stomachs are never in knots. But, people often say things to make me think that they think I am one of these people, which suggests to me that the whole thing might be a sham. It would probably be boring to float through life anyway.

Still, I’m generally aware that all of this is exaggerated in my head. I suffer from stupidly high expectations and silly insecurities. Things usually go a lot better than I think they will and I usually make a better impression than I think I will.

But, then there are days like today when it isn’t all in my head. I really am a mess. Mostly for good reason, but a mess nevertheless. Wednesday I was rocking third day hair, wearing an outfit that didn’t match and really wasn’t dressy enough for work, limping because my foot has been hurting for weeks now, and starving, because there was no time or opportunity to eat anything but a piece of a cookie and two almonds (both donated by classmates) until 7pm. I didn’t have time then either, but I had to make it. I wasn’t at all prepared for class, but I quickly realized no one else was either. And I learned that I have to write a 20 page paper before next Wednesday, which isn’t such a big deal except that I need to write another paper in that time and I don’t know when I’ll be able to work on either.

Thursday I got up on no sleep, dragged myself to Job #2 without bringing coffee along because I couldn’t find my commuter mug, worked feverishly on last minute preparations for a conference that started that afternoon, had to stay late to finish, went home to eat a bagel, got called back into Job #2, finished that in time to start work at the library, spent my dinner break back at the conference, found out I need to go in earlier than I thought tomorrow, and at that point waved goodbye to my weekend.

By now, you can tell by just looking at me that I’m a mess. My hair started out curly, then frizzy, then went up in a bun that has since fallen to the side of my head. Today I’ve consumed a bagel, half a cup of coffee, a slice of lemon cake, a McDonald’s cheeseburger I ate while driving back to work, and a can of Dr. Pepper. If I was at home, then I probably wouldn’t be writing this, but it’s 11pm on Thursday and I still have an hour left at work.  I’m in pretty good spirits, though I’m starting to forget what the inside of my apartment looks like. Today I feel no shame for feeling like a mess.

I’ve been a total grump about work for the last two weeks. I love my job and I’m really grateful to have it; I know you have to preface any work complaints with statements like that in this economy, but it’s really true. I work in an academic library, so the public I deal with is limited by a lot of factors, but it’s still the public. And this highly educated public might be better at complaining than even the general public. Or maybe they just value their own opinions more.

I’m a pretty easy going, generally cheerful person, but there’s only so much I can take. I start getting frustrated and short with everyone and then doubly so, because I’m so annoyed at myself for being such a grump. Sometimes it just feels like little pieces of me are being chipped away by each person who walks up to the desk. Not to be dramatic about it or anything.

So I had this whole post written about my frustration with work and I was all ready to publish it today, but then I had an unexplained change of attitude. It wasn’t because I willed myself to be cheerful or someone made me laugh or I realized how lucky I am or the kind of supernatural miracle I don’t believe in occurred. I don’t know what it was, but it feels nice. I feel cheerful and not frustrated or annoyed with myself. I feel light and while I still feel like being honest about what I’m experiencing, I don’t want to post a whole big thing about it.

What’s weird is that I’m sick and it’s been a really long day. This is the last day I should have a sudden attitude reversal. Life can be mighty difficult with its ability to throw a bunch of crap at you all of a sudden, but it’s sudden instances of joy provide relief once in a while.  Candy Corn helps too.  And alcohol.

Have a great weekend!

When I was home in Washington a couple weeks ago, I discovered that some members of my family are strangely critical of both blogs and twitter.  I say strangely, because they don’t really know anything about either.  They’ve just made snap judgments based on almost no information.  It’s that old crap about blogs being self-important and why would anyone want to join twitter just so they could share what they had for lunch?  My thing is that everything we do is at least partly self-important and twitter is much bigger than sharing mundane facts about your life, but the fact that it facilitates building a community of people who might actually be interested to know that I had a bagel for lunch makes it all the better.

I hate to use such catch words as community, because I’m in a field where it comes up constantly (along with interrelatedness and multi-[everything]), but that’s what these haters are missing.  I write a blog because I like to write and I like to have people read what I write (both self-important), but believe me, I wouldn’t carry on if no one cared and I doubt anyone would be reading if we didn’t have relationships that extended beyond the content of my writing.   I don’t get on twitter to announce to the world what I’m doing; I get on twitter to talk to people I like.

That kind of hater mentality where you reject something at face value just drives me crazy. That people then put energy into making sure everyone knows how much they hate something is a waste of life.  There are things I don’t understand, but my immediate reaction is not to hate them.

But, this is all to tell you that I’m a total hypocrite, because there are at least a few things that I’m a total hater for.  And I’m not talking about violence or passive aggressive facebook statuses, because those are things I hate legitimately–for good reasons.  To be a hater is to hate things irrationally, but usually still passionately.

For me, these things include fuzzy sweaters, turtleneck sweaters (actually, most all sweaters), Mitch Albom books, Nickelback, and these damn ambiguous trailing ellipses . . . . (actually, again, ellipses in almost all circumstances).  Dislike for any of these things could be, I think, warranted, but the fact that I hate them on some kind of visceral level puts me in the hater category.  So, don’t be offended if you were just reading Tuesdays With Morrie while listening to Nickelback, because I already denounce and reject myself.  I say, if you can’t stop yourself from being a hater for something, then at least know how ridiculous you’re being.

I’ve been in a mood I don’t have words for.  Not sad or unhappy, not bursting at the seams with joy, and not even blah.  I just am.  And, I’m not good at just being.  I’ve got to have words to put to it or some kind of reflection to share.

This is just like writing fiction where the big drama, happy or sad, is so easy to write, but the day to day feels impossible!

I guess it would be different if I was content with this weird mood, but I’m not.  I feel restless.  And even though I love Fall to little pieces, I’m not ready for it.  I don’t know if I’d rather sit in a corner and cry right now or run out of the library and go skipping across the grass singing at the top of my lungs.  It’s kind of maddening in the best and worst ways.

But, there’s one thing I’m really excited about.  I found out this morning that I got the vacation time I requested and I’ll be able to go home to Washington later in August.  Gah, it’s just so awesome.  I haven’t been to Washington since last Christmas, and I spent most of that time snowed-in at my Dad’s house, away from the part of the state I really call home.  I didn’t realize until this year that I don’t just miss my family–I miss the actual place I spent most of my first 22 years.  I like to walk around and seem familiar sights.  It brings back parts of my life I can’t recall from here in California.  I just can’t wait, and I feel so lucky that I get to have this experience before I head into what is sure to be a dynamic and difficult school year.

Excuse me while I go skipping out of the library!

I think that most of you know my blog is named after the Travis song “Writing to Reach You.” It’s a song I’ve liked for a long time, but my love for it probably peaked in early 2005. Still, the phrase writing to reach you has continued to echo in my head. For a long time, I really wanted to get it tattooed on my wrist.

So, I named my blog after the phrase more so than the song. Here’s what I like about the phrase. It’s about writing, but it’s about writing for a purpose: to reach people. That’s what blogging is to me. I write because it’s what I like to do, but I don’t write just for me. I write because I want people to read and enjoy it. Maybe there will always be something a little selfish about that, but other people are necessary to it. Writing to me is fundamentally about communication, and I judge writing by how well in communicates. That’s why I don’t care about big words or complex sentences. Good writing is clear. Good writing reaches people. It takes chances, but it doesn’t get in the way of itself.

Still, when you name your blog after a song, you can’t help but feel that the song is intimately connected to your blog. Now when I listen to “Writing to Reach You,” I feel like it should give me some kind of special blog vibes or I should find some relevance to my blog hidden within the lyrics. But I don’t, because the song is more about heartbreak than writing and, well, it was released in 1999, before the concept of a blog was anything concrete.

At least, that’s what I thought for a long time. But, several months ago, I was listening to “Writing to Reach You,” and I made a connection to the blog that I’ve never made before. Like most music I like, it’s a depressing song. There’s such futility and impotence to the idea of writing to reach someone. Talking to someone or yelling at them is a bold act; they can’t help but hear you. But, writing is much more passive and your audience can choose to read your words or they can walk away. Still, you have something to say, and maybe you can’t scream it from the mountain tops like you’d really like to, but you have to do something, so you write. And, your writing might never reach people the way you want it to, but at least you’re putting it out there.

I’m not good at communicating myself. As my sister told me a few months ago, “you don’t talk to us.” Of course, she went on to call me self-righteous, which sums up why I don’t talk about anything real with my sister: she always makes me regret it. I’m not good at telling people about myself. I’m not good at putting myself on the line. But, I want to connect with people, and I can write. So, I do write. And, it’s never quite enough, especially because the people I most want to know me don’t know that I have a blog. But, it’s something.

I’ll be honest, I sometimes romanticize the futility of writing to reach people–of writing to reach you. There’s a longing to it. It’s a little desperate. But, it keeps me striving forward. It keeps me writing. I thrive on depressing crap like this.

Only in the last year have I learned this lesson about growing up. I’ve always been very precise and very dependable. I know what I’m talking about and I do what I say I’m going to do.

People think of me this way, and I know that. It’s how I think of myself too.

But, in the last two years, I have completely fallen apart. I have made mistakes and missed deadlines. I’ve put things off way too long and forgotten to return emails. Basically, I’ve fallen short in a lot of ways.

It’s not that I’ve changed. It’s that I have about a million more responsibilities than I ever have before! And, I can’t always keep up with everything. I realized this about myself a while ago, but it seemed to take a while for it to get bad enough for anyone else to notice.

I go back and forth, because most of the time I feel anxious about this and really uncomfortable with the idea of people thinking of me as anything less than sharp and very dependable. And other times, as immodest as it sounds, I realize that me overworked is still more on top of things than a lot of people and maybe I should stop being so hard on myself.

Ah, but who am I kidding? I keep making lists and trying to figure it all out, all while committing myself to more and more things. And, maybe this is 98% in my own head, but it still bugs the crap out of me that I can’t do it all.

I apologize for the title, but I have “Conjunction Junction” stuck in my head.

I have this strange habit of blowing small things out of proportion. What’s weird is that I deal with big problems quite well and have even been praised for my calm. It’s the little things that I can’t do much about and that just sit there in my mind that I tend to freak out about. Sometimes I make it all worse by avoiding these things. I would probably be better off if I vocalized them, but instead I just let them fester.

I hate writing posts like this, because they always make silly things seem like a big deal, but I guess that’s my real problem anyway. I’d like calm, but instead I’ve got frustration. And I’m frustrated that I’m frustrated, which I somehow find amusing, and so I guess it is true that emotion doesn’t always make sense.

I’m sorry if you’ve now got “Conjunction Junction” stuck in your head. But, one question: “what’s your function?”  Frustration station, when’s vacation?  That’s the best I could do.

I’m kind of frustrated with people lately. I always hate when people say that, because they often do it from a pedestal and then look down and say, “people these days.” So, I guess I should clarify. When I say I’m frustrated with people, I don’t mean that the people have somehow failed me. I just mean that I’m a person who’s currently frustrated in her dealings with other people, which is a pretty natural thing. And, when I say lately, I really me right this second as I sit at work. The instant I leave work, I’ll be fine.

I did have an experience this weekend that probably should have left me frustrated with people, but instead just left me confused about how to feel. I was at Target (for the 3rd time that week), and I was behind this lady in line who had the most adorable newborn strapped to her front. She paid for part of her total in cash, so I saw her shuffling several bills around. I wasn’t paying close attention, because the old man behind me was standing way too close and when I tried to step further away from him, he just stepped closer to me.

As the lady with the newborn started to walk away, and I stepped up to the cashier, I noticed money on the ground. It was two $20 bills. The newborn lady hadn’t gotten far, so I picked up the money and said, “I think you dropped this.” I held the money out to her and she took it, but then she said, “I don’t think I had another $40 in my wallet.” We all kind of stood there for a moment–the newborn lady, the cashier, me, and the old man standing too close to me.

Then the newborn lady said, “Does anyone mind if I take it? You won’t judge me, will you?” I didn’t say anything, the cashier shrugged, and the old man standing too close to me whispered, “are you sure it’s hers?”  I shrugged towards him and then the newborn lady kind of laughed and walked away.

As the cashier rang up my items, I was thinking, “that lady just walked away with money that probably wasn’t hers. Am I judging her?”  As I walked to my car, I thought, “Were we all kind of judging her and did we just not say anything because we didn’t want to bother starting something with a stranger in Target?”  As I was driving home, I thought, “even if we all agreed on finders keepers, she didn’t find the money.  I did.  In what way was she entitled to it?”  And, as I was going to bed that night, I thought, “I really need to get over this new crush on Zac Efron, becuase it’s embarrassing.”

I wasn’t mad that I lost out on money.  I wouldn’t have kept it.  I never keep found money unless there’s no way to turn it in.  Not because I’m a great person.  Great people (my step dad, for example) wouldn’t even consider keeping it.  They’d just turn it in.  I always at least consider it.   I’m usually pretty good at spinning stories in my head and I tend to be overly sympathetic, but I didn’t attach that $40 to anyone who desperately needed it.  Even when I thought about that possibility, there was no emotion in it for me.   I would have turned it in, because I want to be the kind of person who turns in found money. It’s my ego on the line.

As I’ve said so many times before, I’ve always dealt with this problem of not feeling genuine.  A perfect example? Doing the right thing, because of how it would make me feel about myself and not on the basis of some kind of principle.  In the last couple years, though, I’ve realized that that’s just crap.  I’ve come to believe that altruism is a myth–not because I’m cynical, but because I think our self-interests are always involved.  And, there’s nothing wrong with that.  You should be engaged in the things you do.  It’s quite illogical to think you’re not.

I just don’t think our motivations are ever so simple that they can be called selfless.  I would have turned that money  in because it’s my habit, because I have this cultural and religious idea in my head that it’s the right thing do, because of the golden rule, because someone might really need it, because I want to think of myself as a person who would do the right thing, and because I want other people to think of me as the person who did the right thing.

I’m not a bottom line, end result person.  I think intentions matter.  But, maybe we should realize that self-interest isn’t such a bad thing and that we cannot so simply divide every or any action into selfish or selfless.   I understand the tendency to label things simply and in definite categories.  I know that we want answers.  I mean, I study religion, remember?  What I’ve gotten out of my education is not answers, but rather a more nuanced way of seeing the world.

Sorry for getting all philosophical on you.  But, you probably expect that out of me by now.

I am probably going to regret this post very soon, because I tend to pass out of bad moods pretty quickly.  But, for right now, I’m feeling grumpy.  I slept from like 6 am something until almost noon, and it wasn’t good sleep.  Now I’m at work.  I need to prepare for my thesis defense, which is TOMORROW!  I was up until 6 working on my thesis, which I still like, but could have been way better if I hadn’t procrastinated at every possible turn.  I feel behind on everything.  I owe everyone and their cousin an email.  (Tell your cousin I’ll get back to him soon!)  I feel like a bad blog friend.  I don’t know what I’m going to post on 20sw tomorrow.    I have stuff to do for all three jobs.    Money is . . . ahhh!   Now I’m whining, which I’m not proud of (of which I am not proud?)  And, after watching SNL, I have a mini crush on skinny jean wearing, emo-haired baby Zac Efron. I hate myself for that one.

Okay, writing this made me feel better.  I don’t usually get grumpy like this, so what’s weird is that I find my own grumpiness kind of amusing.

I hope you’re all doing well.  As Justin Timberlake used to say, Peace and Hair Grease!

It’s so frustrating to feel like there’s never enough time to do all the things you want to do. I’ve always believed that we make the time to do the things we really want to do. I guess I still believe that. I mean, I do make a lot of time for blogging. But, as I get older, I find myself growing less and less optimistic. It used to be mostly laziness and procrastination I was fighting against, but now it’s laziness, procrastination, a mountain of responsibilities, and too many competing interests to count.

There’s only so much time. So, I guess it’s a matter of priorities. My top priorities have always been work and school. Unfortunately, they leave little time and mental energy for anything else, and it feels like so much of the rest of my life is piddled away taking care of the small things.

For so long, I thought about all the things I would do when I wasn’t in school anymore–when I didn’t have that responsibility hanging over my head. I knew this was only wishful thinking. I knew that work would be just as demanding. But, it wasn’t until I started working for my professors and witnessing their lives outside of the classroom that I realized the kind of life I was signing myself up for. If I achieve the dream, then I will be under the constant pressure of work and deadlines.

The thing is that, I want the career and I want the responsibilities. If I had unbridled free time to do whatever I wanted without work or school or family to get in my way, then I would be miserable. You should see me on extended breaks. I either wander around bored or I end up watching hours of mindless tv. Part of what makes the free time feel so good when I can carve it out of my day is that it stands in contrast to what I do with the rest of my time.

So it’s a balancing act, and I suspect it always will be. I go back and forth in my mind about the best way to spend my time. I go through phases where I try to fill every spare moment with something productive, and I go insane. I give myself permission to do whatever I want, and I get lazy. I can’t figure it out, so I bounce between the extremes.

The thing that nags at me the most is writing fiction. When I go on and on about how you can’t wait for inspiration, about how you can’t wait until you have all the time in the world, about how you just have to sit down and write, I’m mostly talking to myself.

I miss reading fiction too. It used to be such a big part of my life. Now I read only a few books of year. That doesn’t stop me from bringing books home from the library, but they often sit in a pile next to my desk until I come to my senses and realize I’m never going to get around to reading them.

I don’t run like I used to either.

I sure do spend a lot of time on the internet, though.

So I’m back to being frustrated, and fighting with myself as I search for that elusive thing called a balanced life that I’m not sure exists in reality at all.

*The title is a lyric from the Travis song “Indefinitely”

I’m not sure if I’m ready to write this post. I don’t know quite what to say. My mind hasn’t wrapped itself around this issue yet. I’m not even sure if it is an issue. But, I’ve been dancing around it a lot on the blog, which means it’s certainly on my mind. Actually, it’s starting to control my life.

I think I have an anxiety problem. I immediately want to say, “but it’s not a big deal!” I haven’t had an anxiety attack or anything. Even the word problem sounds too serious. But, it is a problem, and it’s been a problem for more than a year.

I keep thinking it will get better when I finish this project, when I finish this semester, when I find a job, when I finish this semester, when I apply to PhD programs, but all of these things have come and gone already, and though the anxiety has lessened and intensified, it hasn’t gone away. It makes sense to worry about these things, but I find myself anxious almost all the time, even when I’m not sure what I’m worried about.

I also keep thinking that I have the ability to make it better all by myself. If I just focus. If I just stop procrastinating. If I exercise more. If I take it easy for a while. If I take some deep breaths. If I finish everything I’m worried about. But, I have tried and tried, and though the pull yourself up by the bootstraps mentality still holds some hope in me, how many times can I try and fail before it’s stupid not to look somewhere else for help?

To be honest, I don’t even know if what I’m experiencing is anxiety. I keep saying that I’m in a funk or feeling down, but that makes it sound like I’m depressed, and that is not what this is. I’m closer to manic, but not that either. The smallest things are stressing me out, it feels like my mind and body are racing, I think about everything all the time, I always have this feeling of fear and dread in my gut, and I can’t ever get enough done to calm myself.

I can survive this. I’ve been doing it for quite a while now. But, I can no longer believe that things will get better on their own, and it seems that if I don’t do something now, I’m going to reach a breaking point eventually.

But, the real reason I decided to write this post right now, even though it seems like I should wait a while, is that I had a very scary thought today. Two scary thoughts actually. I thought that I didn’t want to get help, because I didn’t want to admit to other people that this is a problem I can’t handle alone. And, I don’t want to consider medication, because I don’t want to be a person who needs medication. I couldn’t believe these thoughts were even in my brain as I was thinking them. I am appalled at myself. I have always been utterly confused by people who think that psychiatric illness is a sign of weakness or embarrassing in anyway, and even more so by people who refuse drugs that might really help them. I guess I think differently when I’m the one in question. But, the thought of stupid ideas like these stopping me from getting help if I need it really scare me.

I’m also concerned with the way this is affecting my body. My stomach is always in knots, I often lose my appetite, my mind races when I’m trying to fall asleep, I feel almost jittery sometimes, and suddenly out of the blue, I have high blood pressure for which there seems to be no medical explanation.

I guess I don’t really know what to do because I keep going back to the thought that it really isn’t that bad. Honestly, truly, it really isn’t. And, stupid fear aside, I don’t think I need medication. But, I really don’t want to live like this anymore, and unless I pack up and go home, there’s no future ahead for me that doesn’t involve a heavy work load and a lot of stress. I’d be better off facing this now instead of later when I reach a crisis point.

As part of my benefits package at work, I can have a few free sessions with a therapist. Maybe I should talk to someone about this. I’ve never tried that before.

If you have some experience with anxiety, or even if you don’t, I’d really like to hear from you. If you don’t want to leave a public comment, you can always email me at writetoreach[at]gmail[dot]com.

I am stressed out!!!!

I’m probably not the only one.

Mostly it’s the applications.  I wish I could go back in time to the Ashley of two months ago, and tell her to get started on those apps already.

It’s a million other things too.  I’ve been juggling all this stuff all semester, and now there are just too many things up in the air, and I’m scared something’s going to hit the ground.

I hate when procrastination and stress turn emotional, and then mix with all the other things you’re feeling until you’re completely overwhelmed.

It’s not that bad.  I knew I was going to say that.  But, it really isn’t that bad.  It’s just that this stress is different than before.  It’s not just finals this time.  Things are coming at me from so many different angles, and I just want to be perfect.  There, I said it.

So, freak out with me if you want.  About anything, however big or important.  Or, offer encouragement if you have any to spare.  We’ll work on perspective some other day.

I’d really like to punch someone in the face right now. Not anyone in particular–just someone.

I’m not angry or depressed or unhappy. I just want to punch someone.

I’m annoyed at library patrons who don’t have their cards ready and don’t know how to use a library. Soon I’ll be like the library version of the Soup Nazi. I’d like to be that person who answers every question cheerfully, and I usually am, but I spend too much time here to keep it up 100%.

I don’t hate my job. I like it actually. And, I feel really lucky to have it.

I’ll walk away tonight feeling perfectly fine.

But, hold me back from the next person who asks a stupid question. As someone who wants to teach, I think I’m obligated to believe there is no such thing as a stupid question. But, there definitely is. The last ten people I’ve talked to have provided all the proof I need.