My first day working in the library

I was told to strip, with sharps - and found Trump's playbook

Since my surgery in late February, I’ve been working in the library. Doesn’t that sound super romantic? I’ve always dreamed of working in a library.

Ideally, I’d wear a long, flowing yellow dress and glide on tall ladders across teak-wood bookshelves replacing loaned-out books. Not unlike what you may recall from Bell in Beauty & The Beast.

Sometimes, it’s better to keep your dreams safe and un-experienced.

Today is my fourth day working at the library, and while I’m still romanticizing the experience for myself because I’m a depressed dreamer, my task is mundane. I am stripping.

No dollars are involved, y’all. Stripping is when one applies a piece of thick tape to the spine of paperback books and meticulously ensures all corners and edges are perfectly formed to the spine. I don’t mind the task; it’s helpful to the women who work at the library year-round, but it’s a long time to strip for eight hours a day.

It’s also a lot of time to think about life.

Like a rookie, I left my headphones at home the first day.

Oh, and I am not on the “floor” in the library. I am in the back at a little wooden desk. It’s still quiet, though. That’s no different than the floor of the library.

Even without music, I found a rhythm to stripping.

As I was stripping, I observed my thoughts, which were as follows:

You will always be alone because you are unlikeable.

You need to challenge yourself to get out more - to which I responded to that thought, but I am an introvert and sad - and my thought responded again - too bad.

I saw wrinkles between your eyes, girl; you have wrinkles. You’re getting old.

Time is running out.

You get the idea.

As I’m ruminating on all these superfluous thoughts, I get a notification from NYT.

The New York Times.

I’ve never been so nervous to open a notification from a trusted news source in my life.

I took the bait.