Misadventures of the Monster Librarian

I turned in my Monster-ly scary thesis Monday morning much to my relief and trepidation. And just minutes ago I sent my second final project: 16 pages of "notecard" reviews, etc. on Gary Paulsen and his three novels: The Hatchet , Dogsong , and The Beet Fields , accompanied by a 24 slide Powerpoint presentation of the paper. I let out a sigh of relief and yet feel as though I have sent my baby out to play in traffic. Handing in papers is always such a mix of emotions; the joy at the end of a class and yet the fear that you forgot to capitalize a "t" or cite a reference. I don't have kids, yet I feel that I know what parenting is like because each time I turn in a major assignment it is like letting my baby go out into the world alone: to be picked on by bullies; yelled at by teachers; nearly broad-sided by a bus. And yet I feel a sense of accomplishment handing those papers over, much like a mother as she watches her toddler master potty training. That sai...

I realized the other night as I tried to begin a new book that I couldn't concentrate. I kept reading the same sentence over and over again on the first page, because I was thinking about the settled in feeling I was finally-after 14 months in my current living situation-having for my home. It was one of those moments when you walk down the dark hallway, cool boards under your feet, and flip the lights on, reaching directly for the switch, not having to paw at the wall like a blind man. You don't even think about it anymore, the ease of navigating the window latch, admiring how smoothly it glides open, how foreign that feels after a hand crank widow, or an old heavy double paned window, fitted into a setting; a window that was replaced as you too were in time replaced. You don't notice anymore the way the breeze can blast through the window, dispelling the day's stale air that you were not able to sigh away. Your exhales were a contribution to little more than stale...