Hullo, all, welcome to Flashback Friday, where I
get lazy and don’t make up a new post recycle an oldie but a goodie, from before I was all “famous” and crap. Enjoy! Or not, whatevs.
From September 2011 . . .
“It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself `The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She’ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where CAN I have dropped them, I wonder?'”
– Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
I’m late for an important date. If only I could remember what it was. And where. Also what it was about. The poor white rabbit. If I can identify with anyone besides Alice, it would be this poor stressed-out type A rabbit.
Not only do I feel like I’m constantly running and not getting anywhere, I’m not sure where I want to be. I don’t really want to be around mad people, but the Cheshire Cat pointed out the obvious. Everyone’s mad. Everyone’s running around staring at their Iphones that have gone dead, realizing the terrible truth that every number they need to call is in their contact list. Which is on the phone.
This makes for an anxious society. No, scratch that. About half of us are anxious, and the other half are what I like to call carriers. Some carriers fly by the seat of their pants and enjoy it. Other carriers assume that someone else will do it for them, and enjoy it. And then there’s the realists, often termed pessimists. Guess which one I am? I am so often anxious, that NOT being anxious is a strange feeling for me. It doesn’t last long, as it is usually accomplished through a pill that knocks me out.
Which is why I need Caffeine, a stimulant found in Coke, a drink that can keep you awake and clean your toilet. It’s always nice to have things with multiple purposes. Which is why I have several pairs of shoes for each family member. This way, surely I can find one pair, right? So my youngest has worn snow boots in Summer. No one thinks this is unusual, given the child in question, so it works.
The White Rabbit is a great example for anxiety, ADHD, OCD, etc. Rabbits are always anxious, their little bodies panting, their hearts running a million miles an hour, even while still. They’re made that way because they happen to be prey for a lot of other creatures. Even pet rabbits have this constant fight or flight response, though there is no immediate threat. Save a toddler, in which case the rabbit is probably better off in the wild. They are ready to run at a moment’s notice, darting anywhere and everywhere. It’s no wonder they can’t keep up with their gloves. This is why, of course, rabbits these days don’t wear them.
I feel like a rabbit. Sometimes I can’t concentrate. While my body is often still (my eldest once fondly informed me that I was much like a Sloth) my mind runs 24/7. Thoughts go boing, boing, boing. I envy my husband, who, I swear, can sit and not think. At all. I’m not sure how he does this. Maybe his constant viewing of reality T.V. shows about fishing and garbage diving has contributed to this. Not that I can act too superior. I spend so much time on the computer, it’s a good thing there are pictures of my kids on it.
Do these electronic devices and the internet make us that way? I don’t think so, as I’m sure I’ve been much like this even when all we had was the Apple IIc (turn the disk over, new disk, please wait, turn the disk over, please wait, why don’t you go make you a sandwich?) Certainly I was before the Internet. I think it’s ingrained, which is why my eldest is panicked about a possible detention, and the youngest gets them so routinely that she thinks it’s a normal part of the school day. It’s how we’re wired.
But is it permanent? I hope not. I’m seeing a counselor, in hopes of rewiring myself, at least to the point that I can sometimes find my gloves, my glasses, my shoes, my keys. So that I’m exercising physically rather than in my head. I’ve already “run” myself to physical exhaustion. There’s no queen or duchess waiting to chop off my head. So maybe, just maybe, I can figure out how to relax. Oh look, here’s something that says eat me . . .
There are so many stereotypes about librarians. They are stuffy old women covered in cobwebs, armed with date due stamps, shushing everyone, maniacally hoarding their books and looking suspiciously at those who dare to check them out, etc. I have to say that some of these stereotypes are not true. Not all librarians are old, although they all get that way if they stay long enough. Some of the other things, well, let’s just say the stereotypes often develop from at least a grain of truth.
- Fear of losing or not having things you might need.
- Order and symmetry: the idea that everything must line up “just right.”
- Excessive double-checking of things, such as locks, appliances, and switches.
- Spending a lot of time washing or cleaning.
- Ordering or arranging things “just so.”
- Accumulating “junk” such as old newspapers or empty food containers.
|These books are not straight.
Someone will pay
Yeah, that’s nothing like librarians! I mean, just because most like to shelve books in a certain way (all edges lined up on the end of the shelf, sitting up ramrod straight and tight, but not too tight, with the call number showing) means absolutely nothing. Not even if they have to periodically check on this, dusting and cleaning and straightening books, even if they aren’t in their library, or even a library for that matter. And when they see that a book is say, shoved in backwards, or maybe when they start to tumble over, or possibly someone squeezed a book in too tightly, wrinkling the pages or scratching that brand new dust cover, or loosening the call number sticker, or getting chocolate fingerprints on a brand, new expensive book that BY GOD TOOK THEM A LONG TIME TO PROCESS, CATALOG, AND CAREFULLY PLACE ON THE SHELF DO YOU THINK ELVES DO THIS JOB WELL NO IT’S YOUR LOCAL UNDERPAID LIBRARIAN, THAT’S WHO!
We have rather loose standards for what goes into archives. Obviously we want materials that are relevant to our university. But relevant is often implied through degrees of separation. So we have a book that has nothing to do with the university, wasn’t written by anyone having something to do with the university, but was once owned by someone who had something to do with the university. Or who had wanted to do something with the university. Or who donated a lot of money and / or is elderly. And it just stands to reason that if one copy of such a book is good, then multiple copies are even better. What if one gets ruined? We’d need spares! So we store them all in boxes – in the same place!
|I found it! Hey, where’d
the patron go?
So our archives room is stuffed to the gills with these treasures. And don’t get me wrong, there are true treasures in there, like yearbooks from 1910, back when it was hard to tell the students from the profs because everybody dressed nicely, and engaged in debate instead of football. (Yes, there was a time when sports were not the highest priority at an institute of higher learning!) Also, there’s the old issues of our school newspaper, back when people cared about news, and bitched at each other through editorials and letters to the editor, back and forth, sometimes for six or seven issues in a row. Basically, it was the precursor to our modern online message boards. So that’s why there are stacks of newspapers in there – they’re important newspapers, thank you very much. Not just some uncontrolled mess of regular newspapers stacked to the ceiling.
|Our archives room|
However, there’s a lot of other stuff in there, stuff that is important, or maybe important, but we just haven’t figured out how to organize it properly yet. Or where to put it when it is organized. Or maybe it’s a cart of books that got tossed in there because our “workroom” is also a fancy room where we have luncheons and must be periodically cleaned out. So it’s difficult to find what we need in there, what with the stacks of unorganized stuff, and the fact that there is no light because light would damage the treasures. Not that this matters, since there is rarely time for organization anyway. And when we get a few spare minutes to try, we start having panic attacks, and run out as fast as possible. Basically, it’s a hoarder’s room, but one that, rather than being forced to be torn down by the city, is actually sponsored by the state.
I can’t say I have these disorders to the extent that some of my coworkers do. For one thing, sometimes the saving of EVERYTHING (for a while we had some archival thirty-year-old rubberbands in the supply closet, but I threw those out, shhhh) kind of gets to me. Maybe because it reminds me of my cluttered house. And while I care about this history deeply, and want it respected and maintained, sometimes I don’t have quite as much enthusiasm for making everything look perfect. I’m not a perfectionist, at least not in everything. My motto has generally been “good enough for government work”. You will find that this does not go over well with most librarians. There is a perfect, and by golly, you’re going to maintain it or deal with the wrath of your coworkers.
|No, no, no, you’re being
fesitve all wrong!
So I usually go along pretty well, because I’m good at obeying authority. Though I will admit to a slight rebellious streak. When decorating the library Christmas tree, we use paper decorations (that have been meticulously saved for years and are ironed out before decorating) that we put on in a specific order. The swirly paper decorations are smaller, and make good accent and fill-in pieces, so are not to be put on the tree until after all the other pieces. I was informed of this during a group decorating session. So when they weren’t looking, I put the swirly pieces up first anyway. Just because.