At a certain point, I know, you have to forget about your soul and just do the work you're required to do. To go on and on about your soul is to miss the whole point of life. I could say that with more certainty if I knew the whole point of life.
-Sheila Heti, How Should A Person Be?
I love that.
Now. Here's another library curiosity. You may recall that I was lumbering along with a book that I believe is quite a good book, but one that requires that the reader not be constantly distracted by Game of Thrones or similar. [Did I mention that my friend referred to Game of Thrones as Tits and Dragons? And that I told him that I would be stealing it immediately? I think we should all steal it immediately.] Anyway, when you're all hopped up on Tits and Dragons, it is difficult to apply yourself to literature. What with one thing and another, the three weeks were nearly up and I was only on page 83.
Approaching the librarian, I asked, "Is it possible to renew a book before its due date?"
"Oh, yes," she assured me and took the book from my hand. "Oh. There are ten holds on this book, so I can't renew it. Do you want to hang on to it? You might make progress by Wednesday or, it's up to you, I can't renew it, but after Wednesday it's 10 cents a day."
I found it quite shocking that a librarian was suggesting I intentionally keep a book overdue for my own selfish gain, despite the fact that ten people, ten studious, intelligent people who probably don't even watch television, were waiting to read it. "No, no," I said. "That doesn't seem very fair. I'll just turn it in. I'll try it another time."
I removed a bunch of papers I had stuck in the book and handed it back to her. She suggested, "Why don't I place a hold on it for you, so that once it cycles through these ten people, you can get it back?" That seemed like a very satisfying solution, I agreed.
Imagine my confusion then when THE NEXT DAY I got an email from the library informing me that the book I had placed on hold was ready to be picked up. No doubt the self same copy that I had just given them.
What madness is this? Wither the ten people, dear reader?
I feel that there is a moral here somewhere, but I'm damned if I can figure out what it is.