I'm Going to Raise Hell

5:30 AM
It is strange to wake up inside the library. It's not a particularly attractive building, even the back rooms. Linoleum floors, cinder block walls, fake wood counter tops in the staff kitchen.

5:32 AM
Still, anything is better than SunnyDay Retirement Home, where Every Day is Bright with Possibility.

5:34 AM
Possibility of some old person turning up their toes, most likely. I wonder why retirement homes are all named to sound like kindergarten buildings. Stick the two next to one another and you probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

5:35 AM
Unless you went inside, of course. Kindergarteners look different from people who are 80+ years old. Fact of life.

5:38 AM
Zeppelin just knocked over the tea. Not just the cup of tea, but the whole tray with the teapot, tea cup, sugar, and milk.

5:39 AM
And the plate of cheese and crackers and apples.

5:40 AM
I shall have to kill him and sacrifice him to the library gods. Perhaps they'll take pity and replenish the book supply.

5:41 AM
Except I can't kill him. I've only got two cats; I mustn't waste them.

6:00 AM
The mess has been cleaned up, the cat locked in the book return box until I think he's learned his lesson, and now I have a fresh pot of tea. Well! Not a bad morning after all.

7:30 AM
I've just got a huge box from a UPS man! This really is quite exciting--it must be the books ! I didn't even have to sacrifice my cat.

7:35 AM
Now I just have to get the wretched thing open. There appears to be a lack of sharp objects in the library to cut through the tape on the box. No scissors, no box cutter, no letter opener... Perhaps if I try stabbing the tape with a pencil or pen, I can make a hole and pull it apart from there with my hands?

7:38 AM
No.

8:00 AM
I can't believe I'm being foiled by a box covered in tape. I tried prying the tape up with my fingers, but my grip is too weak. I never knew how nice it was to have nimble hands until I didn't have them anymore. I hate being old. I wonder if one could get hand transplants?

8:01 AM
Probably not.

8:04 AM
I don't know what to do with this ridiculous box. It's too heavy to move anywhere, and it's stuck right here in the way of the door.

8:07 AM
Ha! SUCCESS!! I'm brilliant! I opened the box with my cheese grater. At least I can get through the cardboard now.

8:10 AM
This...does not look like something someone would pack books in. It's an insulated cooler, I think. Do books require a certain temperature to travel in?

8:11 AM
Perhaps they're preserving the books from aging? Maybe I should travel in a freezer and see how that improves my bodily preservation.

8:12 AM
GOOD GOD! These are not books!

8:14 AM
What kind of a country is this, I ask you?! I ordered books, which, the last time I checked--though, admittedly, I've been unconscious for several months--are bits of pulped wood with bits of ink on them. Ink has heavy metals in it, which is very detrimental to the environment, but the contents of this box are definitely more detrimental to the environment than ink could ever be.

8:15 AM
And detrimental to my mental health. Detri..mental health. Ha!

8:16 AM
Hahaha! Alright, I need to focus on the problem at hand.

8:17 AM
I'm going to call the UPS office and raise hell. I don't want these things decomposing in my nicely renovated library.

8:25 AM
"Hello? Yes, I--" wait, this isn't a real person, it's a machine answering their silly phone! No, I do NOT want to check the shipping status of my package, that's the whole problem--it's here, you, you... computer! I want to talk to a person.
"PERSON! LI-VING FLESH!" Please repeat? What kind of intelligent machine are you? I articulated as though you were 80 years old!

8:28 AM
This is ridiculous.

8:31 AM
FINALLY! "Yes, I have a problem with you and your entire company."
He says he's sorry. I don't think he means it.
"Actually, I ordered a package and something I didn't order arrived. Something that is very markedly not the thing I ordered."
Huh. Problems like this occur all the time, he says. What kind of a company does this sort of thing repeatedly? Aren't you supposed to learn from your mistakes?
"I ordered a lot of books. Why? Because I'm a librarian. Would you like to know what I got instead? A box of frozen birds! Dead ones, with the feathers still in! What kind of sick company are you?!"
He's told me to look at the address label. I know my address, why would I--oh.

8:36 AM
There's a different mailing address on it. It's supposed to go to the Environmental Studies Office down the road.

8:37 AM
But this means nothing! They are still at fault for sending me the wrong package and mentally traumatizing an old woman with a box of frozen birds!
"This means nothing! You are still at fault for sending me the wrong--"
He said they're sending someone over to pick up the box. And he hung up. Young people are so rude these days.

8:39 AM
I should probably let Zeppelin out of the book return box.

They'll Have to Pry Me Out of Here with an Iron Bar

5:17 AM
I have unearthed a problem.

5:18 AM
One that can be circumvented, but it is one I'd rather didn't exist. The fact of the matter is...there's no shower or bath in the library.

5:20 AM
Which, under normal circumstances, would be a reasonable lack in a public library. But right about now, the lack is highly inconvenient. I shall have to French Bathe.

5:21 AM
Sponge bathe, I mean. Not French bathe in the sense of not bathing at all, like Napoleon's Josephine. I believe in Hygiene.

5:23 AM
With a capital 'H.'

6:00 AM
Nice and clean now. Time for morning tea.

6:03 AM
I shall take an inventory of everything that the library is missing after that maniac burned the books. Then I shall devise a plan to make the city pay for replacing them.

6:10 AM
Which will be difficult. Extracting money, I mean. They're already rather shirty about having had to repair the building. Miserly little monsters, politicians. Ah, well, I'll just order everything and then send them a bill to surprise them. Perhaps they'll go down quietly due to shock.

8:04 AM
It's disastrous. I think I'm going to sink into a depression. We're missing nearly a quarter of our collection. The city's going to go berserk when I send them the bill. That'll be an exciting board meeting.

8:10 AM
Hahaha. "Exciting board meeting." Practically an oxymoron.

9:00 AM
I hate computers.

9:02 AM
And online book-sellers and everything to do with ordering things online.

9:09 AM
And people who come in asking for books that are long burnt and crushed to ashes as an offering to some maniac god. Go away. No, we don't have it. Yes, I'm quite sure. Are you aware that we had dingbats breeze through here and set the building alight? No? Well now you know.

9:20 AM
At last--peace and quiet, the kind that comes when the proper amount of people are in the library.

9:21 AM
The proper amount being 1.

9:22 AM
As in, me. And my two cats, of course.

9:40 AM
HA! At last. My orders have been placed. Books will come. I think I shall go to the grocery store and stock up on cheese and crackers. On my bike! Yes! Ooh, I have missed riding my bike. There it is, chained up outside the library even now, after so long. Beckoning to me.

9:42 AM
Ooh, everything aches... What's the point of having knees if they hurt too much to move? Wouldn't it have been kinder for evolution to just give us solid, unjointed stalks to trot about on?

9:45 AM
I've just tried to walk without bending my knees.

9:46 AM
It was not successful.

9:50 AM
It's even harder to bike without bending one's knees.

10:00 AM
Cheese! Crackers! Apples! Peanut butter! Oh, truly, these are the ingredients of ambrosia. I also got more tea. One can't have too much tea.

10:53 AM
Extracted one of the cats from the book return box. I'm not even sure how he got in there in the first place, but putting your hand through the slot was like paddling in a piranha tank until I found the key to unlock the access door.

11: 15 AM
I have arranged the backrooms of the library to my satisfaction. Now, I have to find Macy and re-hire her. All the other librarians have given notice. Not me, though. They'll have to pry me out of here with an iron bar.

But First, I Shall Have Tea

12:23 PM
An eternity has passed.

12:24 PM
That is to say, three days have passed. And they were, as I predicted, an eternity long.

12:30 PM
Here's the bus to take me back to town and away from the hospital and my miserable roommate.

12:32 PM
She wasn't sorry to see me go. Ha, well, I saw the next woman they were wheeling in to take up my bedspace. My roommate will be screaming for me to come back.

12:37 PM
I hate buses. And people who bring their horrible little yappy dogs onto the bus with them.

12:38 PM
And the horrible little yappy dogs, for that matter. Why to people like tiny dogs that yip all the time? Cats are quiet and all they do is sleep and occasionally eat bits of furniture when they're not entertained properly.

12:38 and a few seconds PM
Oh my god, my cats. Who's been looking after them?! I've been in a coma for over four months; what will have happened to them? I can't believe I forgot about this.

12:38 PM
Well I didn't actually forget. I was indefinitely unconscious. But they won't understand. They're cats. All they understand is tuna and cuddling.

12:40 PM
Perhaps Macy took them home; she knew I had cats. She's looked after them for me before.

12:42 PM
Which brings up a whole new host of worries.

12:43 PM
This bus is taking forever.

12:50 PM
I'm going to gut that little dog.

1:54 PM
Here! My bus stop at last--only a few more minutes of walking and I can sort everything out...

2:00 PM
My rooms are empty. I have opened the door to room number 316, with my key, in my apartment building. I'm sure I'm in the right place, otherwise the key would not have worked. Which does not make sense. My rent was paid to the end of the year, and, if I'm not very much mistaken, the end of the year has not come. So where has my stuff gone? WHAT HAVE THEY DONE WITH MY CATS?

2:07 PM
I've cornered the landlord. We'll see what he has to say about this.
"What have you done with my things?" I hope that sounded outraged enough. That's right, cower in fear. This is going to take a lot of explanation on his part.
"Well, Ms. Evans...we, we thought you were dead, so we... canceled your claim on the apartment. It's been rented out to a nice young couple, they're moving in next week, actually..." I would have a heart attack right now, but it would mean that I'd have to go back to the hospital. "I am NOT dead. I paid for that apartment! You had no right to give it to someone else! What did you do with my cats?! My things?"

2:09 PM
He's gone and ducked behind the counter in the lobby. Probably a good move on his part, but I am not pleased. I shall just have to follow him.
"My cats?" No need for complete sentences now; I think I've tapped into the primeval form of communication. Few words, much emotion. In this case, rage. Ug make fire, Ug set you on fire!
My, he's having trouble getting his words out. "We sold them to the pound, Ms. Evans--but, but!" He's holding his hands out at me, which I hardly think will stop me--"We put all your stuff in storage until we could find the next of kin! It's all here, we have all of your things!"
"You cold slimy excuse for a human! That's like saying, 'I'm terribly sorry, but I've killed your children. But don't worry, I didn't break your furniture!' What pound?!" I cannot believe this. "When did you sell them?"

3:00PM
At the pound. This is the most depressing place I've ever been. Apparently my landlord dished out my cats for a dollar apiece and called it good. The pound people--and all of them look as if they need a good dose of either Zoloft or cyanide, depending on which would be kinder--are checking to see if they have any of my cats left.

3:02 PM
Two cats. Out of nine, there are two left: Zeppelin, who doesn't have enough intelligence to fill a quarter teaspoon, bless his heart (he's the one who got stuck in the lampshade whilst trying to catch a moth), and the others were shipped down south to a bigger pound.

4:26 PM
I have the landlord cornered again. He's nailed the gate to get behind the desk shut, and I confess I haven't the heart--no, literally, being over sixty really does weaken the old ticker--to haul myself over the counter to strangle him. I'll have to content myself with my vivid imagination and a list of demands that I will expect him to fulfill. And he WILL fulfill them.

4:30 PM
There are no other apartments available. What, one wonders, is the point of surviving an entire library collapsing in burning shambles on top of oneself just to get back and find out your apartment has been rented out and you have no where to live? Answer me that, you prick.

4:31 PM
He has no answer. Very well. I shall just have to move into the library. I haven't been back since I've been in the coma, but I know it's been patched up a bit. It's closed, though; I suppose they realized the futility of letting the place just be run by Macy. Although really, she does a better job than most people would; at least she's properly respectful of the books. Keeps them in line. Scares off people who want to check out books and leave gaping holes on the shelves. Scares of regular people, for that matter.

4:50 PM
The landlord kindly agreed to move all of my things to the library in his hauling van.

4:51 PM
After I threatened to slice him up into bits, put him through a meat grinder, and feed him to my two remaining cats, since I will be too poor to buy cat food for them. Young men like him need a bit of encouragement.

5:00 PM
Ahh, to be in the library at last, to return to my true calling! It's a mess in here. And did Mr. Landlord deign to stay and help the little old lady organize her belongings in the worker's lobby? I think not.

5:01 PM
I shall plot his demise from afar. I shall scheme devilish strategies to make his life a misery. I shall concoct a plan to make him rue the day he was born. No, rue the day that he was conceived! Rue the day his parents met one another! He shall be rueful for everything once I am done with him!

5:09 PM
But first, I shall have tea.

Three Days is an Eternity

2:09 PM
I hate hospitals.

2:15 PM
Loath them. Abhor them. Despise them. Deprecate. Detest, disdain, deride, disparage, disfavor.

2:17 PM
So many words. So little time. I wonder if anyone has noticed quite how many synonyms of 'hate' start with the letter 'D'? I bet you if I used a thesaurus I could have a much longer list.

2:20 PM
Hospitals, apparently, do not have thesauruses. Just cheeky little nurses padding about asking me if I need anything and then refusing to give me what I ask for.

2:22 PM
I think a thesaurus is a perfectly reasonable request. It's a shocking lack that this hospital doesn't even have the most rudimentary of libraries. One of the nurses had to lend me her own personal copy of a book to occupy the dry, empty hours with.

3:00 PM
On top of everything else, the doctor is coming in a few minutes to "check up" on me. There's nothing to check. I am not dead; I've gotten quite good at not being dead, thank-you-so-very much, so if you please I think it's time to be discharged now.

3:07 PM
Here he is now.
"Miss Evans, how are we feeling today?" If there was a true and just god, He would have smote this nitwit where he stands on the basis that he's speaking to me as if I were three years old.
"I don't know how we are feeling today. I'm perfectly well, but I hope you're having a horrible day." That was a partial lie; I feel like I've been steamrollered to the bed. Everything else was true, though.
He's smiling at me. Humoring the spunky little old lady. "We do sound rather more robust than normal, don't we?" Smarmy, rich little twit.
"When are you going to discharge me?" Perhaps if I'm brisk and efficient with him, he'll stop using 'we' as his direct object and resort to being correct in his speech and say 'you.'
No such luck, he's gone off on a dumbed-down lecture of what a 'coma' is and why 'we' can't expect 'us' to recover in only a few short weeks... Why does he have to make recovering a group activity? Is this supposed to build my morale?

3:20 PM
If he keeps going on like this I'll darn well give him something to recover from.

3:34 PM
Better news than I expected; I must endure only three more days of being here, and then I'm free to go home.

3:36 PM
Three; a symbolic number. Everything comes in threes in stories. Except Noah's Arc, where groups of three would have been awkward and extraneous.

3:40 PM
I do get tired easily, but I think it might be a survival mechanism; all these white, surgical walls and the ugly, puce green and pink furniture are encroaching on me, and I'm hooked up to so many IVs that I certainly can't make a break for it; so my body shuts down in pure self preservation.

12:13 AM
And it wakes back up at the most cursed inconvenient times; nothing good is on television at this time of night and I've only got one book--Pride and Prejudice--and I've read it four times already since I woke up from my coma.

12:15 AM
I'm getting a bit prejudiced against it.

12:17 AM
Hahahaha.

1:30 AM
One would think that at my age, sleeping wouldn't be difficult. After all, isn't that one of the things old people are famous for doing? Sleeping? Falling into peaceful dozes not only at night but also in the early afternoon?

1:32 AM
Clearly such peace and tranquility is not for the likes of me. However, I have just figured out how to adjust the bed with the little automagical button. It can make the bed sit up...like so...and then lie flat...like so...

1:40 AM
This is more fun than I think I'd normally find it. I shall stop now before my roommate wakes up and howls for the nurses to complain about me. She is a most unforgiving sick person; I can't move for having her complain that I'm bothering her in some obscure fashion.

1:42 AM
Pitched an absolute fit when she overheard me asking a nurse if I could keep my cats in the room with me.

1:50 AM
In here, three days is going to be an eternity.

Ain't No Hiding Place

5:00 AM
I couldn't sleep in this morning. I woke up and felt...compressed. Like I'd been stuffed in a box and left in the attic. I've opened all the windows, even though it's freezing and damp outside, but my apartment still feels a little stuffy.

5:07 AM
Perhaps it is an omen of deep dark frightening things. The stuffiness, I mean. Yesterday my library was ravished by religious delinquents, today my apartment is stuffy when it's 35 degrees outside. I'm beginning to see a pattern. An ominous pattern.

5:10 AM
Never mind. It's just that my heater's decided to start working again, and of course I had it cranked up to the highest it could go when it was broken as though my turning it up would make a difference (what with it being broken and whatnot). And it has made a difference now, and it appears to keep wanting to make a difference because now it won't turn off.

5:12 AM
Perhaps this is God's way of getting back at me for laughing at the fact that he didn't strike my library with lightening. Bastard.

5:14 AM
Altan Yilmaz is on my black list. Why doesn't God punish heartless jilters as opposed to innocent librarians?

5:30 AM
Tea makes everything a little more bearable. Tea, tea, tea...Good heavens, my dentures fell in the kettle. I'll fish them out with my salad clompers.

6:00 AM
I will brace myself and go to the library in half an hour. I must view the destruction with a brave heart, like Bilbo in "The Hobbit." If ever I die--and I must assume that I will, it seems to happen to everyone else--I want to have that book with me. Perhaps I should start carrying it with me wherever I go, just in case I die suddenly and without warning. Perhaps I'll be hit by a bus on my bike on the way to the library. Or someone will poison my tea. Or Altan Yilmaz will murder me out of tortured guilt he feels every time he sees me because he realizes what a cruel person he was to leave me waiting and he can't stand it any longer and so he'll take a coffee mug to me and bludgeon me to death.

6: 05 AM
And then he'll die of shame. Because he'll have killed me. I wonder what it's like to be murdered. Uncomfortable, I expect.

6:35 AM
I cannot delay it anymore. I'm going to the library to assess the damage. Perhaps I can salvage some books from the pile that they burned. I'm heading out on my bike now.
With my copy of "The Hobbit" in my pocket. You never know, with buses.

6:50 AM
No chance of saving an entire book. There are a few pages scattered here and there, but they're a bit charred. It's all a big pile of gooey ashes that have sort of cemented from yesterday's rain. It's not raining right at the moment, but the sky looks like miso soup broth.

7:00 AM
I almost had a heart attack, coming in here to the library. The shelves are a mess--I think more than half the books were stolen. It makes me sick to look at it.
I need tea.

7:02 AM
Scratch that. The teapot's broken. Die, world.

7:06 AM
Good heavens, there's a dead man on the floor.

7:06 1/2 AM
No such luck. He's asleep, and it's the man who ordered the crazy religious whackjobs to burn my books. Perhaps I should spear him one last time with my umbrella. How dare he sleep in MY library?
"GET UP!"

7:07 AM
That perked him up. He looks affronted. Tough cookies.
"You," he's saying. Well, who else does he expect to find in this library? Besides a few regulars--and they're all weird, every last one of them, all obsessed with one thing or another--Macy and I are really the only ones who are ever here. Surprise, there's a librarian in the library!
"You have no right to be sleeping in here. Out." I'm pointing at the doors, but he doesn't seem to get the message. What is it with these people and their inability to understand simple body language?
He's drawing himself up, as though he's here for some sort of worthy cause. "Ma'am, I'm here to finish my task."
"And I'm here to foil it, you fiend!" I brandished my umbrella and I bared my dentures at him. I have no idea what sort of task he's going to finish, but judging by the disgusting pile of ashes outside, he isn't the sort of person who does any kind of acceptable tasks. Ooh, I should add that to my rules of requirement for entering my library:
#6-->Thou shalt not engage in suspicious activities that involve any kind of god and/or freakish religion.

7:15 AM
He's walloped me! In the stomach! Brute! Walloping an old woman like that! I can barely breath! No, really, I think he's dented something important, I'm heaving for air...
I've thrown up all over the floor, and of course these floors are carpeted, it'll take ages to clean it up...
"You cannot deny the word of God." The worst part is that he sounds nice. I don't like people who are not nice sounding nice. He's so calm. Like I'm not really a problem. I AM a problem, and he WILL deal with me if he thinks he's going to be doing any kind of task in here--
"I was waiting for you to return. You are an instrument of Satan, and you must be purified, along with this building of Sin."

7:19 AM
I'm trapped in here with a complete lunatic. This is why I hate religion. Look what it's DONE to him--"You think your religion justifies you being a psychopath?" I tried to scream that, but all I can do right now is squeak because I haven't quite got my breath back. But I squeaked in a very menacing way. What to do, what to do...Just because I was curious this morning about how it feels to be murdered doesn't mean I actually wanted to try it out--I think I'd best toss that out there in hope that whoever controls these sorts of events takes that into consideration. As depressing as this library looks right now, I'm not ready to die until I've fixed it up again.

7:20 AM
He's coming closer. Time to run away.

7:21 AM
Crawl.

7:21 and a bit AM
Help.

7:22 AM
He's singing again, like last night. Another hymn, I can dredge my memories of it from the church I used to attend so long ago. I'm crawling like mad, but he's got this rather ingenious advantage of being young and able to walk and still having proper use of his lungs.

And he's using them to sing what was a perfectly good Gospel song before he dirtied it with his creepy zeal.

There's no hiding place down here,
there's no hiding place down here;
Well I ran to the rocks to hide my face,
the rocks cried out "No hiding place,
there's no hiding place down here."

And he keeps coming, no matter how madly I crawl across this old carpet. I have to get to my feet, have to do something other than wriggle across the floor like a desperate fish.

7:26 AM
I've managed to get behind the front desk, moving like a soldier trying to avoid gunfire in a movie. And that twit keeps coming and singing, coming and singing...

I'll pitch my tent on cold ground,
I'll pitch my tent on cold ground,
Oh I'll pitch my tent on this cold ground,
and give old Satan one more round,
There's no hiding place down here.

He's going to have to worry about a damn sight more than Satan when I'm through with him.
Plan! Oh, I have a plan! Thank heavens for the inspiration pure panic and desperation spurs into existence! I'll pull the fire alarm bell, right here on the wall, it'll wake up the whole town and I'll be rescued! It's the most annoying fire alarm ever. People are bound to rush over out of sheer fury.

7:30 AM
I've pulled it! Ha! He's covered his ears and jumped back! TAKE THAT!

7:31 AM
He's attacking! Not fair! I pulled the alarm, he should just burst into tears and await his arrest--He's setting the library on fire. "RULE NUMBER SEVEN! DO! NOT! SET MY LIBRARY ON FIRE!"
I'll skewer him with my umbrella if it's the last thing I do!

7:32 AM
It's the last thing I think I'm going to do. He's thrown me into one of the shelves, and the books and cheap flimsy shelves are piled around me--I can't see anything but smoke and all I can hear is the crackling pop of the fire--all that dry paper and wood is going to go up fast, and I am stuck. Well it's a good thing I pulled the alarm, surely they've heard it--surely...

Oh, the devil wears a hypocrite's shoe,
Yeah the devil, he wears a hypocrite's shoe,
The deavil wears a hypocrite's shoe,
If you don't watch out he'll slip it on you,
there's no hiding place down here...

My first order of business will be to rip that man's lungs out when I'm out of here. Violently. I'm having trouble breathing through this smoke, now--what is it you're supposed to do? Stay low to the ground and crawl to safety? Good, because crawling is about all I can do.

7:34 AM
No, I tell a lie--my legs are trapped under a shelf. Crawling is not an option. They better hurry up with that rescue. They do know I'm in here, don't they? I mean, I get here every morning, early. It's what I do.

7:40 AM
It's what I did. Can't breath...the cats...did I feed the cats this morning? My feet are tingling, I think they've gone asleep under the shelves, and I can't move my legs...It's hot in here, is the heater broken?

Ain't no hiding place down here...

His voice was so far away, and it really wasn't the last thing I wanted to hear.

7:42 AM
The siren blared across the cold, damp streets and woke up everyone and his dog--especially the dogs. The canines howled at the sound and the growing stench of smoke that hung stiffly in the humid air. It took a while, but people crawled out of their beds, irate and ready to shoot whoever set off the alarm.
Some people gathered at the library, which had smoke billowing out of its crevices. A man was standing outside, singing. Not very well, but it was a catchy song, for a hymn.

Over My Dead Body

12:09 AM
I have waited up all night. Mr. Yilmaz did not come to fix my heater.

12:10 AM
I fed the dosa to the cats.

7:00 AM
I got to the library at 6:30 this morning. I felt a bit restless. If Mr. Yilmaz DARES show his face on these streets with his stupid coffee and his stupid accent, then I shall set him on fire. With a flamethrower.

7:02 AM
And throw his crispy remains under a bus.

7:06 AM
There is a group of people trying to get into the library. They seem rather excitable; how odd. No one around here gets this excited about books.
"The Library is closed." They aren't paying attention to me. I guess I'll have to go and order them off the property.
"The Library is CLOSED." They can see me now--at least, they're pointing at me and shouting--but they aren't leaving. I'll just open the door and--
They've broken through the glass of the door! I'm going to be murdered. This is the end. It wasn't enough that God sentence me to a jilted, broken heart. He had to have me sliced to death by an angry mob armed with broken glass. Death by the glass of my own library. The irony is astonishing.

7:10 AM
How dare they push an old woman like myself over like that! What if I was terribly frail? What if I had osteoporosis and they had snapped my brittle bones? Do they care? Who are these maniacs? I would ask, but they aren't very approachable.

7:12 AM
They're stealing books! MY books! The books that are supposed to be in the library! It's not a case of just a gap here and there--they're running off with whole shelves of books from the World Religions and Science sections. I will not stand for this!
So I'll just stay here under this study table until they've gone away and then call the police. With any luck the police will be the sort of neanderthals that are armed with cattle prods and are willing to use them against dangerous book thieves.

7:13 AM
They're singing...hymns? Yes... Hymns. Old ones.

"What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jeeee-sus./
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus./
Oh, precious is the flow
that makes me white as snoooow./
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jeeesus..."/

That brings back memories of the Southern Baptist Church. What are they doing out there?

What can wash away my sin?

They're piling books up behind the building. The chickens are nowhere to be seen; they've probably fluttered off in fear. Silly birds are smarter than I am.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

I've seen films that have scenes like this; historical documentaries that come on in the evening on P.B.S. Books piled in huge masses; "unacceptable" books. The Nazis did book burnings; so has every other ignorant group.
Well whoever these bastards are, they're about to burn my books while they sing about their God, like it's his will to destroy knowledge.
Over my dead body. God's gonna have to tear down the whole damn library before I give up. See if his pathetic little mob of supporters can march seven times around my library.

What can make me whole again?

I'll tear them apart.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

7:25 AM
I've got my umbrella. And an envelope opener. There's nothing else for it. CHARGE! I won't actually shout that, obviously, because I'm going to try and appeal to their better nature and howling and spearing their leader with an umbrella might make a bad impression.
"Excuse me? Excuse me, you can't burn those books. They're the property of the Public." I jabbed the man closest to me with my finger. It's taking a bit of effort not to prod him with the envelope opener.
The little prick is looking down at me like I'm sort of fungus growing on the ground. "Ma'am," he's saying, "We are the Public, and we're spreading the will of Gaw-ud. Please stay back. We're cleansing Satan from this town."
"Cleansing Satan? Are you an idiot?! They're books! Written by people!" I grabbed at one of the books off the pile--Buddha: A Journey of Haiku. "This is a bunch of poetry," I howled, but the man snatched the book back and threw it back into the pile.
"Light it!" He sounds and looks like a rabid vulture. If vultures could get rabies...
"Don't you DARE get a single candle near my--" but I was cut off as another man poured a gallon of gasoline on top and a young woman with a frighteningly benevolent smile on her face threw a lit match into the whole mess.
FWOOOM!!
More than anything else, I can feel the exothermic reaction of the hundreds, thousands, millions of pages, expelling light, heat, and sound--the skin on my face is stretched tight from the sudden influx of heat.

7:32 AM
"AIIIIIIIIIIGH!" I shall kill them all! Starting with this nitwit who ordered the burning! I swung my umbrella at him and conked him on the head.
A flash of light shot through the air, followed by a boom that rocked my arthritic bones. The mosque is on fire! It's been struck by lightening...
"HA!" I pointed up at the sky. "YOU MISSED, YOU MISSED!" God missed my library! He can have deluded minions try to burn my books, but he can't even hit the right building with his lightening! The Universe must be on my side! Perhaps this sudden pouring of rain will put out the fire!

7:35 AM
No such luck. There's too much gasoline for the fire to go out yet.
There's Macy! Macy! Oh, I'm so glad to see her--
"MACY! Macy, help! They're burning the books!" I abandoned my whalloping of the man to wave my arms at her and beckon. She's coming! And running at another of the men! I knew she cared about the library books. SHE'S TACKLED HIM! YESSS!
"Good, Macy, keep it up--" Oh dear. Her hair's on fire. "Macy, just put your head under one of the gutters--" She's not listening, the silly girl. Nevermind. Someone will sort her out. I need to finish teaching these ignoramouses that books are for being neatly lined on shelves, not burning.

7:37 AM
The prostitutes from the antique shop have gone insane. They're out here in bathrobes and little else--and by little I mean...nothing...--and they're flinging alchohol onto the flames! FEEDING THE FIRE! There are too many of them. Too many...

Oh, precious is the flow,
that makes me white as snooow.

And they won't stop singing--they've thrown a couple rocks at me, but no matter what, they won't stop... The homeless men have joined in, too. The lyrics aren't difficult. Perhaps that's why Christianity succeeded so well; easy lyrics, easy tune, something you can learn when you're drunk as a drowned pansy.

It's flashing again--lightening? No--it's camera flashes. What are those little Japanese people doing? Good heavens. They're from that tour bus by Jorri Rae's. What kind of person would come here as a tourist? I have half a mind to beat them with my umbrella for treating this like some kind of performance. Why aren't they helping?! All they can do is stand there and take flash picture after flash picture, capturing this crime forever in pouring rain. What a contrast. Roaring flames while it's raining cats and dogs.

No other fount I know...

I can't see Macy. I'm here by myself, swinging my broken umbrella for a pile of books that don't love me any more than my own daughter does. I'm soaking wet, my umbrella's spokes are all bent out of shape, and yet the fire is still burning and they're still singing.
One of the prostitutes is pouring a whole bottle of whiskey on the fire. What can I do but watch the flames dance higher, reflecting eerily off of individual raindrops, the crackle of the swiftly incinerating books blending into the violent hiss of rain smacking against the pavement? My shoulders can heave and I can sob and I can scream at them all I want, and they probably wouldn't even be able to tell in this downpour.

7:42 AM
My umbrella is useless now. It's too broken. I'll leave it in the dumpster behind the library. I'm going home.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

I've Been Plotting

5:33 AM
I still feel a little sick, but I must bravely forge through the day. It is my duty as a public servant of the library. People depend upon me. I must be a good example.

5:40 AM
I hate the world.

6:45 AM
I shall have to go by the grocery store today after work; all I have is crackers, cheese, apples, and some canned food. And milk and tea, of course. If Mr. Yilmaz sees the inside of my refrigerator whilst he's fixing the heater in the living room--you never know, with foreign men--then he might think I'm strange.

6:50 AM
On the other hand, he's foreign. Perhaps cheese and crackers and apples is a normal diet in Turkland.

6:55 AM
Turkey. Took a moment for my geography knowledge to kick in. Either way, I'd best just get some food. In case he's hungry. I ought to be hospitable. After all, he will be fixing my heater.

7:oo AM
Good lord, Zeppelin--one of the cats--is stuck in the lampshade and he hisses at me if I try to get near.
Ah. I see what's happened. There was a moth flitting about around the light bulb and Zeppelin...oh dear. He's much too fat. Hence his name, of course--perhaps "Blimp" would have been more appropriate, but somehow that sounded... insulting.

7:03 AM
He's broken my lamp! Furry bastard! I tried to help him out, but nooooooo, he had to go and break the dratted lamp! And he's still stuck in the lampshade.

7:12 AM
I have succeeded in wrestling Zeppelin from the lampshade. I just grabbed the lampshade itself and shook it like mad and he--eventually--popped out. Now I have to clean up the mess and get to work on time.

12:40 PM
Work has been boring. The only (relatively) high point was when a woman named Marie came in and returned Lord of the Flies. She was in here yesterday, when she checked out the book, but she doesn't strike me as the reading type. I tried to offer to help her find some book that might interest her, but she said no and left.

12:43 PM
I've been plotting dinner for tonight just in case Mr. Yilmaz stays for dinner.

12:45 PM
Which he damn well better, because I've spent all morning plotting and it's going to take all afternoon to cook it. I've written down some foreign-looking recipes from a cookbook I got in the World section, and I'm still looking. I hope he appreciates my cultural sensitiveness.

1:12 PM
Couscous? Idly? Dosa looks good. I'll make dosa. It's Indian food, but India is fairly close to Turkey. It's on the same continent, at least.

3:20 PM
I've left the library to Macy and I'm getting the ingredients for dosa. I hope it's foreign enough.

Be Still, My Beating Heart

9:00 AM
I woke up with a cold this morning. I've got puffy eyes, the sniffles, and I feel like a hedgehog is nesting in my throat. I entertained the idea of skipping work, but I have a lot of paperwork to get through. The last time I had a buildup of paperwork I put it through the shredder and told my boss that my cats got at it, but I don't think I can do that again. He might get a bit suspicious.

9:10 AM
Even tea isn't helping much. I bet having such a cold, damp apartment has made me ill. I would sue, but that would call attention to me. My daughter might find me.

Macy is being blessedly quiet today. She did sort of madly hop into the library in order to avoid the still-lingering chickens in the front yard, but I can overlook a few oddities.

10:30 AM
A young man just wandered in here. He looks vaguely familiar; a recurring library visitor, I expect.
"Have you got any books on two?" He doesn't look like he quite knows where he is. Not that I can complain--I regularly get lost in the grocery store. All those aisles. It could happen to anyone.
Er. Two? Two what? "Well, we've got One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. If you're interested in that kind of thing." I very much doubt he is. He looks a trifle old for such books.
"No, just the number two." Charming. A lunatic. Doesn't this town have any normal people in it? Besides myself, of course.
I feel quite huffy that he's so interested in the number two. "The number three is better, you know. There are plenty of books on the significance of the number three. It's a religious number--you know, Father Son Holy Ghost and whatnot--and it's traditional in fairy tales. You never hear the story about the Two Little Pigs, or Goldilocks and the Two Bears. Three is the perfect number." He's not listening to me. How can I tell? He's left, that's how. He's gone and wandered off into the shelves. Well!
Two indeed. I suppose I should have recommended A Tale of Two Cities.

10:45 AM
Except I hate Charles Dickens. I refuse to recommend him to anyone.

11:03 AM
I'm taking a break. The library's quiet today, so I doubt there will be any emergencies in my absence. I like it back here in the employee lounge; no one is allowed back here but Macy and I and my boss, and he never shows up unless he's angry. I can look out the window to the back of the library from here; usually it's just a view of the empty parking lot (a scene of depression), but it's got the carnival now (a scene that invokes suicidal tendencies). I can see a girl in a big, horrendously yellow raincoat getting onto the ferris wheel; normally I don't single out people to watch like this, but it's hard not to single her out. She's like a single ray of sunlight in a dungeon; the yellow against the stark grey sky is brighter than anything else outside. The gaudy lights and colors of the carnival have been dulled with splattered mud and grey light and fog; even the royal purple tent of the so-called medium looks less royal and more like an old bruise. Uffda, I'm making myself ill.

11:10 AM
And I'm sick to begin with. I think I'll go back to the library counter now.

5:30 PM
I ran into Mr. Yilmaz in the elevator and he agreed to fix my heater. Wonderful!

5:31 PM
He's coming at six tomorrow.

5:32 PM
Oh god. What will I wear?

5:33 PM
I shall not forget to put in my dentures. I shall not forget to put in my dentures. I shall not forget to put in...

5:50 PM
My dentures.

12:00 AM
I can't sleep. Be still, my beating heart.

12: 04 AM
Only not really still. As in, dead still. Dead being the operative adjective.

Definitely not a Pigeon

9:00 AM
Well, here I am at the library. For once, Macy arrived on time; she was here in time to help me ready the library for opening. I hope she makes a habit of it.

9:10 AM
No one in the library. Except, of course, Macy, but right now she's pacing at one of the windows and looking up at the densely clouded sky, as though hoping for Jesus to pop out of the clouds and say 'yes, Macy. It's all true. Repent and believe!'

9:23 AM
Except I don't believe Macy is talking to God. What's she saying? Something about friends forgetting her.

9:25 AM
I'm bored. I think I'll drink some tea.

12:25 PM
Macy left to go out on her lunch break, but she came back rather quickly, running like a madwoman. She kicked up her heels off the ground very high and slammed the library door after her. I would scold her, but my mouth is full of cheese and crackers. Ah well. She looks like something just tried to eat her.

12:28 PM
Checked out the window for suspicious, man-eating animals. So far, no Godzilla is visible. I think Macy just had a nervous breakdown, poor girl.

2:45 PM
Drank 2 liters of hot tea.

2:46 PM
More importantly, I've gone to the bathroom more often than I think must be healthy.

3:00 PM
There's a bird on the window sill outside the library.

3:01 PM
Quite a large bird, actually. I haven't got my glasses on at the moment, so I can't make it out very well.

3:02 PM
Perhaps it is a pigeon.

3:02 PM
I hate pigeons.

3:05 PM
I'm going to bang on the window pane and make it go away.

3:05 PM
That is definitely not a pigeon, now that I get closer to it.

3:06 PM
Good heavens, it's a chicken. And there are about five more in the ratty little scrap of grass in front of the library, pecking away like mad. I suppose all this wet weather really brings up the earthworms; a chicken's smorgasbord.
But that is not the point; the point is, there's a posse of chickens in front of my library. And the second point is... Why is there a group of chickens in front of my library?
"Macy, come here a moment." As weird as that girl is, she might know where the chickens came from. Or maybe because she's so weird she might know. "Look--there are chickens in the front yard."
Macy looks rather terrified. "They tried to get at me when I was outside before! Why are they there? "
Drat. My source of neighborhood information has failed me. She also appears to be hanging onto sanity by a thread. But I'd best respond. "I haven't the foggiest."
"Foggiest what?"
These young people. Don't even know a commonplace idiom. "I haven't the faintest idea," I translated out of the goodness of my heart.
"Well, should we do anything about them?" I can detect a note of worry in Macy's voice. Perhaps she thinks I will make her do something about them.
"No, just leave them. They're only chickens." And even mad birds like chickens have the right to roam free. Just as much right as an old woman, I should say.

3:10 PM
Macy's gone to hide in the Astronomy Section.

3:30 PM
Hahaha. Chickens move in a funny way, jerking their legs in time with their heads, like little wound-up clockwork toys. Bokbok. Bokbok. It's fun to make a chicken voice and strut about like one of the silly birds.

3:32 PM
I should stop doing this in public. One of the people in the Romance Section gave me a funny look.

Before the Earth Cooled

5:08 AM
The nice Mr. Altan fixed my ceiling last night. I'm very happy with the results. I don't know what he did, but my apartment is now rain-free.

5:10 AM
Perhaps he can fix my heater, too. I'm about to freeze to death in here. I've got three quilts here on the couch and I'm stuffed in the center of them like an apple stuffed in a roast-pig's mouth, on the verge of being swallowed by blanket fluff. At this rate, I'll suffocate before I freeze to death.

5:18 AM
Lalalalala, tea is ready!

Fat kettle, shrieking
Your high sweet torturous note
screams: Tea is ready.

5:20 AM
Cheese, crackers, and I've cut up an apple... A perfect breakfast. Actually, the tea is what makes it perfect.

6:00 AM
My umbrella has a broken spoke; Mr. Altan wasn't able to keep it from snapping when he pulled it from the vent last night. I shall fix it with string.

6:04 AM
The string is not working.

6:10 AM
Die, string. Die.

6:15 AM
Alright. I've glued the spoke with Elmer's glue, wrapped it as best I could with duct tape, and wrapped it with string that I've saved from teabags. I've always saved my teabag string--the string that holds the little paper tab to the fat pouch of tea material, I mean. It's useful. You never know when you'll need some string, I always say.

6:18 AM
Like now. I just used some of that string I saved. I am NOT mad as a spoon, Sara Goodeart! Ha. I haven't seen my daughter for two years now. She probably thinks I'm dead as a door nail. And wouldn't that serve her right? I wish I could see her now.

6:25 AM
I'd wave my umbrella in her face and show her my teabag string, put to use. Mad, indeed! Look here, Sara!

6:27 AM
If only children listened to their mothers. They'd lead happier lives, I'm sure. Unless all mothers were like my mother, in which case we would have to despair for the human race.

6:30 AM
But I am nothing like my mother, so Sara ought to have listened to me.

8:00 AM
The doorbell's just rung, and now someone is knocking on my door. I suppose I should go answer it. Lalala...I have lots of tea. Yum. Oooh, this door sticks in the damp. Good heavens. There are two young men at my door. Well, one young man and a little boy. The little boy waved a clipboard in my face and coughed and puffed out his chest like a pufferfish.

8:01 AM
Only, of course, he isn't covered in spines and he's not a fish. That would be unfortunate for a little boy. Think of all the teasing.

8:02 AM
"Hello, Miss."
"Mrs." Just because my husband is dead doesn't mean I've lost my title.
"Mrs," the boy corrected himself very graciously. "Have you seen a number two anywhere?"

8:05 AM
I refuse to believe that I am going deaf. Therefore, I must have a build up of earwax.
"A number two, small boy-child?" I was never any good with children. Not even my own. What am I saying? ESPECIALLY my own.
"Er, yes. A number two. Like, you put it on your door." The boy pointed at my door where my apartment number is.
"Oh. No. I can't say that I have."
"Ok. Please tell me if you catch sight of it."
Catch sight of it? What is it, a fugitive? I can see it all now. The police have been trying to catch Number Two for a while now. Oh no! There it goes, harring down the street! Catch it! Catch it!
The little boy has walked off and he's pounding on the neighbor's door. The man--who could easily be my son, at his age--nodded politely to me and wandered on after the boy.
Perhaps they are father and son. I've never much paid attention to the people in this town. They'll all die soon anyways.

8:10 AM
Actually, it's more likely that I'll die first. I'm very old. I've been around her since before the Earth cooled.

The Monstrosity In My Back Yard

1:02 PM
Well. I've had a look out the back of the library and I've caught sight of that horrible carnival. Despicable. All those tents and rides and things. Will I go? I shall NOT!

4:00 PM
I have left the library to Macy. She'll close it up at 5.

4:02 PM
I think I'll take the long way home. A nice long walk will be good for me. I'll leave the bike here at the library.

4:05 PM
So my long walk home, unfortunately, goes through the carnival. I shall just have to put up with it.

4:10 PM
There's a big purple tent with embroidery all over it in the middle of the carnival. A long line of people are snaked out behind it; I wonder what's inside the tent?
"Excuse me, but what's inside that tent?" I asked, tapping a young man in line. He looked over and whispered,
"The medium is in there." I could barely hear him, he spoke so softly. He gave me a frighteningly intense look and turned back to face the person in front of him in line. The medium? What's the medium?

4:12 PM
Does the tent have the large and small, too?

4:13 PM
I think I'll wait and find out. It can't do any harm. I have a while before it gets too dark, anyways. I'm getting in line.

4:15 PM
I'm in line now. There's a scary young lady in front of me. She looks a bit...chilly.

4:17 PM
Really chilly, actually. I'm not sure if those things constitute as clothes. More like...bits of black handkerchief...held together with lace...

4:20 PM
I asked her if she was cold. She told me I was a creepy old woman. The nerve! I have half a mind to leave this line right now and never mess with this 'medium' of theirs. Ha! There are lots of medium things. I won't be missing anything.

4:40 PM
It's my turn! I can go in the tent! I'm going to find out what a medium is!! Wait until I tell my cats.

4:41 PM
It's a batty little woman in a black cape and with frizzy hair. I'm going to write a letter of complaint. Who runs these horrid little sideshow festivals, anyways? I waited half an hour in line for this?! She's telling me to sit down.

4:45 PM
So it turns out she's a fortune teller. She's even got a crystal ball. It's kind of a smoky-looking crystal. I can see her batty reflection in it.
I used to have a crystal ball like this in my garden in Texas. It was a bauble that caught the sunlight and reflected it into a thousand different spears of color. I had a large garden, before I lived in Sunnydene Retirement home. It had irises and morning glory and moonflower vines. And lots of violets. I do love violets. I also kept a sign in the yard that said, "R.I.P. : Here lie all the people that ever stepped foot in my lawn."
I never had any trouble with those pesky little neighborhood children, either. I did when I was in the home, though; they called it 'charity work,' but I don't see what's so charitable about some school forcing a bus load of elementary school children into an old person's home and telling them to be 'kind' and 'helpful.' If I ever have to listen to another chorus of little children sing happy songs like "This Little Light of Mine," I shall shoot them with my dart gun.

4:50 PM
But I digress. This medium woman--and that's actually quite a good description, she's neither short nor tall--says she's seen something in the crystal ball. Impressive. All I see is more rock.
"You will meet a dark stranger!" She sounds like a frog with a throat infection. "I foresee love!" I expect her to ribbet any time now. "Deep, passionate love!" Does she realize how old I am? Passionate love, indeed.

5:30 PM
Home at last. I told all the cats what happened to me. The medium lady asked me for money afterwards. The gall! All she did was spout garbage. If I weren't a lady, I'd say she spouted absolute shi--but I'm a lady, and I shan't say it. I shall tell Macy to not bother to go to the carnival. It will be a waste of her money.
Funnily enough, I saw something odd on my way home. It was raining--surprise, surprise; I don't believe the sky has taken a break from dripping like my plumbing for a solid month--and I saw a man fall down to the ground and start vomiting.

5:35 PM
You know what I think? I think he ate meat from that butcher shop. I felt a bit peaky from just smelling the place. I didn't say anything to the man; no telling where he'd been. Other than the butcher shop, of course.

5:38 PM
MY CEILING IS LEAKING! No. I refuse to be damp. The ceiling cannot be leaking. I'm not even on the top floor. How can a ceiling leak if the rain can't get to it?
The water is getting all over my sofa. This is unacceptable. Perhaps if I put my umbrella--

5:45 PM
Wonderful. My umbrella is stuck in the ceiling. The spokes are jammed up in the vent.

5:46 PM
And the ceiling is still leaking. I'm calling maintenance.

5:50 PM
OF COURSE NO ONE ANSWERED. I will die old and alone of pneumonia. My body will rot away and my cats will be forced to eat me because no one will be here to look after them. Then one day, someone will axe down the door because I haven't payed my rent. And they'll find my skeleton, floating in a puddle of dripped rainwater. THEN they'll be sorry. And my cats will be so starved that they'll eat them. Good. They deserve it.

5: 59 PM
That's it. I'm going to go down to the first floor and FINDING someone to fix my ceiling. I've got my extra set of dentures to clack at people who get in my way. For some reason, they tend to disturb people.

6:10 PM
I waited for the elevator to come, and when it did, it clattered and the doors opened, but the elevator box hadn't come level with the floor--it's below where it was supposed to be, about three-quarters over the rim of the floor. The little coffee man, Altan whatsit--I don't think I can pronounce his last name--is in it. And his coffee cart.
"Hallo." I greeted him, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to reply. Perhaps he doesn't understand English all that well; I've never had an actual conversation with him.
"HAL-LO!" When in doubt, speak louder and slower. Foreign people understand better that way. And indeed, he nodded and greeted me, by name, no less. He appears to know everyone's name. Now that I think of it, I'd seen him at the entrance of the carnival, selling coffee--he hadn't seemed to be making much money.
"WOULD YOU LIKE OUT? OUT EL-E-VA-TOR?!" I nodded and smiled, and he started nodding and smiling, too. I wonder if he's a simpleton.

6:15 PM
Good heavens, his cart is heavy. I'm pulling and he's pushing and lifting, but it certainly weighs more than I do. Uffda! There it is. All safe and sound. Perhaps I should help him up, too? He looks elderly.
Good heavens. He's heavy, too. What is it with all these heavy things? He's nearly pulled me in the elevator with him.
Ok, here we go.
"Thank-you Ms. Evans," he said. A gentlemanly simpleton. "Can I do anything for you? Would you like some coffee?" He looks so hopeful. "On the house." And now he looks depressed. What an odd little man.
OH! I have an idea.

6:20 PM
"Mr. Altan... I don't suppose you know anything about ceilings?" Well, it's a better bet than asking the idiots at the front desk. With any luck, he'll know more about ceilings than 'they go above our heads,' and 'they're not supposed to leak.'

You're Not Allowed in My Library If...

10: 04 AM
To help me compose my letter to the mayor, I'm going to make a list of requirements that people must meet in order to be let in the library. That should keep the hooligans out.

10:06 AM
I shall post the list on the door of the Library. It shall be like Martin Luther's 95 Theses. Or the ten commandments.

10:07 AM
Only not religious. I can't abide zealously religious people.

10:10 AM
I'm also not sure I can keep my list as short as 95, let alone 10.

10:15 AM
1.) Thou shalt not touch my desk pen. Bring your own damn pen.
2.) Thou shalt not so much as chew gum in my library, let alone eat.
3.) And if thine evil fingers put thine evil gum in a book or under one of the study desks or anywhere in the library, I'll rip off said digits and feed them to my cats.
4.) No one will hear thine screams.

10:17 AM
5.) Except me and you, and I shall delight in your well-deserved torture.

10:20 AM
I wish I could forbid people to check out books, but I don't think the mayor would buy into that one.

10:28 AM
Macy's just told me that they've set up some monstrosity of a fair/carnival behind the library. Carnival: Root words carn, meaning flesh, and vale, meaning farewell. Farewell to meat. The original carnival was supposed to be the day before lent, when all the people stuffed their faces with as much happiness as they could and danced about in beads and feathers. Mardi Gras. During lent, Catholics aren't supposed to eat meat on Fridays or something, so they ate a lot at the carnival in order to say goodbye to it.

10:30 AM
I used to be Catholic. I still have my prayer beads.

10:31 AM
I like my prayer beads.

10:40 AM
I like Mardi Gras better. I used to go to New Orleans every year for it, when I was younger. And lived in Texas. Pasadena, Texas. It was a long drive to New Orleans, but it was worth it. It was worth it just to get the gumbo.

11:00 AM
Ooh, and king cake. I love king cake.

11:09 AM
Except if I get the piece with the ridiculous baby Jesus in it. I never understood that. Where's the religious logic in that? 'Hmm, we're a bunch of religious fanatics, lets bake a cake that requires one of us to gnaw on a small image of baby Christ. What a sacredly brilliant idea!'

11:15 AM
Religious logic. Silly me.

12:18 PM
I am so sick of people asking me for books. I wasn't aware that there were this many literate people in the world. I'm taking my lunch break.

12:19 PM
Note to self: remember to continue writing the Requirement Rules for coming in my library.

What a Library Should Be

9:09 AM
There's a man who's just come in. He's muttering to himself.

9:12 AM
He sounds ill.

9:15 AM
I think I'll get behind the counter and make sure the little gate to get there is nice and secure.

9:17 AM
I've locked the little deadbolt on the swinging gate and stacked a bunch of books on the counter so I can sit behind them. I also have the spray gun with the cockroach poison with me.

9:20 AM
Not that the man is doing anything wrong...

9:24 AM
No, never mind, he's just accosted a young man who was on the computers. I can't stand the people that come in here to just use the computers. This is a library. Books live here. Computers are like clockwork zombies compared to books. These young people, always checking their e-mail and blogging constantly about their pointless lives; I will never understand it.

9:25 AM
Oh, the young man's run out. The mumbling man just ran and hid in the stacks. How odd.

9:30 AM
Is he reciting Shakespeare?

9:32 AM
Definitely Shakespeare.

9:35 AM
I guess I'll have to deal with him; two people have already complained to me about him, and I can't be having these constant, selfish interruptions. I'd best take the cockroach spray with me.

"Excuse me, hello sir?" I'm not quite sure if he can hear me. Perhaps he is deaf. Or maybe he's only pretending to be deaf? How rude. Or maybe he's foreign. "HEL-LO?" When in doubt, speak real slow and loud. Well, he's looking at me now, at least.

"DO... YOU..." --I'm pointing at him, just to make sure he knows what 'you' means-- "NEED HEY-YULP?"

9:38 AM
Apparently he doesn't need help, he's run off and hidden behind a shelf.

9:40 AM
I've decided to ignore the man until he decides to say something sensible.

9:41 AM
But I still have the cockroach spray in easy reach.

9:42 AM
Frightened in my own library. Well, the public library that is practically mine. I'm here all the time.

9:45 AM
During work hours, at least.

9:47 AM
I shouldn't be forced to hide behind the counter in a library. Libraries should be peaceful and--
"QUIET!" Huh. Some kid tried to play music on the computer. Try again, you technological little twerp, and I'll practice my umbrella-savaging on you.

9:50 AM
I shall write to the mayor and tell him that there ought to be a background screening on people before they're allowed in my library.

Take Care of my Cats When I Die

8:45 PM
I came home late tonight, at about 7. I've spent the last hour and a half visiting my neighbors. Being friendly. Asking them if they would mind taking care of my cats if I died.

8:48 PM
See if I ever do anything for them. Some neighbors they are.

8:50 PM
Well, Sue Strieghkner said he'd look after them. But I don't think he meant it. What a horrid little boy. He called me old.

8:55 PM
I'm not old. I think I should go to bed now. Good night.

12:07 AM
Still not old. Using the bathroom at odd intervals means NOTHING.

Fear My Fierce Umbrella

9:21 AM
I've been thinking about death. In the old folk's home, people died left and right. I got more invitations to funerals than I got bills. Personally, I think the nurses were putting poison in the IVs so that they could shift the people out as fast as they could and make room for more nearly-not-alive bodies. And then they push those people off the edge of the living...and so on and so forth.
I don't have an IV. No matter now; I'm more likely to get shot than poisoned around here.

9:25 AM
If any one tries to shoot me, I'll savage them with my umbrella.

9:26 AM
And my dentures.

9:28 AM
But what if I die? Who will take care of my cats?!

9:30 AM
Perhaps Macy would do it? Oh, here she comes, perhaps I should ask her... She's talking to herself a bit. Well, there's no harm in that, I do that all the time, muttering when I can't find my glasses and such...
"They'll call. I know they'll call. My friends from the sky are just a bit busy. They'll call," is what she's saying.

9:38 AM
I'd better find someone else to feed the cats.

9:45 AM
I might get shot at.

9:50 AM
We're all going to be murdered in our beds.

A poem for Spacey Macy

8:45 AM
I wrote a poem for Macy. I put it in her little cubby inbox.

Do you know how late you are?
You live around the corner--not far.
Did you hurry? Did you run?
Faster than a bullet from a gun?
I don't think you did--you're not out of breath
Listen up, ducky--next time, the penalty is death.

Later today

4:57 PM
I decided to get back up. My heater isn't really working; I'd probably freeze to death if I didn't move around every thirty minutes or so. I think I'll make some tea.

5:10 PM
The water's boiling. I'll have to go down to the store later tonight and buy some form of food. I got paid last Friday; maybe I'll get some sausage as well.

5:12 PM
Well I say "paid." I'm a public librarian. Hahahaha.

5:20 PM
Ha.

6:30 PM
Rode my bicycle down to the Big Dolla, next to the library. I get most of my groceries from here; what I can't get here, I get from the convenience store attached to the gas station just on the edge of the block.
The Big Dolla smells like...well. Like something crawled in it, died, rotted for a bit, then reanimated to rub itself in every possible corner. A bit like the old folk's home back in Texas. Only without the Lysol disinfectant stench that tried to cover it up. I'd best pay for my groceries and head on home before I die of asphyxiation.

6:35 PM
Well, now I'm at the butcher's shop. I talked to the Butcher, Mr. Gorlomi, but he didn't seem particularly disposed to talk to me. Or focus on me. Focus on anything, really. I take back all of my unkind remarks about Big Dolla; it in fact smells like sunshine and roses and honeysuckles.

6:36 PM
I am now a vegetarian.

6:38 PM
Mr. Yilmaz stopped me on the street, selling his coffee. I would have bought some, if only I were a different person with different taste buds (or lack there of). Tea is the only drink for me.

6:45 PM
I'm back in my apartment. Took me forever to haul my bicycle up the stairs three floors. Did anyone offer the little old lady any help? I don't think so.

6:47 PM
And did I mention it rained the whole ride home? It's a good deal I've got a plastic baggy over my bike seat, otherwise I'd have a damp bottom for weeks. That dratted seat never dries out.

6:48 PM
Cold rain. It's freezing outside. In fact, it doesn't deserve the name of rain; it's sleet. It doesn't sleet in Houston this often, or for this long. This time of year in Houston, it's in the high 70s.
I'm still wet. I changed my clothes and dried myself off, but I'm still damp and the heater's still not working.

6:55 PM
I piled all of my quilts on the couch in the living room and crawled under them with a plate of cheese, crackers, and apples.

6:58 PM
Mmmmm. Cheese.

8:05 PM
The power's gone out. Typical. It's freezing cold outside, raining, and the power's gone out. I guess I shall go to bed.

5:30 AM
I love mornings, lalala. I drink tea and have cottage cheese on toast and everything is lovely. I fed the cats, too. I have 9 cats. My daughter thinks that's too many, but my daughter has a skewed view on what's healthy and what's not.

6:28 AM
I can't find my glasses.

6:40 AM
I guess I'll just be blind. At least the power's working again.

6:50 AM
Blind as a bat. I wonder if I squeaked, would the sound bounce off and tell me where everything was?

6:52 AM
No.

7:03 AM
I found my glasses. They were in my dentures' solution.

7:05 AM
Which solved the mystery of where my dentures were. They were in my glasses' case. Time to go to work.

7:30 AM
It was still drizzling in a supremely miserable way when I rode my bike to work. The whole world is grey and sickly green, like a painting of a hospital room that's been dipped in water and left to smear and fade, losing all defined edges. Just before Basho died, he wrote:

"Sick on my journey
only my dreams shall wander
these desolate shores. "

If that is what he saw, just before he died, then god help me, because that's all I see. Desolate shores. Even the scenery goes 'squish' when you look at it, like a sponge that's soaked up so much water that it's leaking.

7:50 AM
The library opens at 8. My assistant, Macy, is supposed to get here at 7:30.

7:51 AM
Meaning that she's not here, was the point of my last entry.

7:55 AM
There she is. Macy's a strange gal. She's got an expression and a hairstyle that makes her look like she's been electrocuted. If humans found a way to breed with praying mantises, Macy is what would happen. A race of Macys.
I guess I'd better tell her she's late.

8:00 AM
On the bright side, no one is ever in the library at this time of day (besides me and Macy). I think I shall read the day away.

October 12

12:34 PM: At The John G. Oden Public Library
On my lunch break. I've had a truly exhausting morning. Three people came into the library today, and they all wanted a book each. I hate it when the library's busy. Don't these people realize I have better things to do than trot around finding books for them? I'm sixty-two years old and I deserve a bit of peace and quiet.
What do they mean by checking out books, anyhow? The books in here are right where they belong: on the shelves, in alphabetical order, nice and tidy. I can't bear to look at those empty spots where books have been taken away. It's like the whole shelf has cancer.

1:20 PM
I'm at the counter again. There's another person here, squawking at me for some book or other. I think I've nearly convinced him that I'm entirely deaf and he'd do better to go and find someone else to help him. A few more moments of ignoring him ought to get him to go away.
Good heavens, could he stop ringing that horrid bell? I'm right here! Oh, yes, he thinks I'm deaf... best not react...

1:23 PM
He's stolen the desk pen! He's stolen the desk pen! He ripped the chain right out of the socket and stole the desk pen! Thief! Now he's shouting at me; young people can be so rude.
“WOMAN, I” breath, “AM LOOKING,” breath, “FOR A BOOK!” pant, pant. Dear dear. He doesn't sound very healthy at all. And he's waving the pen about.
“Young man, there's no need to shout, I can hear you,” I said. He turned a funny color when I said that; I can't imagine what's got him so worked up.
“I'm looking for a book.” He sounds rather strained. Perhaps he has constipation. I've seen ads for medicine that helps with that sort of thing.
“Well then, there's some over there.” I tried pointing to the shelves furthest from me, but he didn't seem to get the hint.
“A particular book.”
A particular book, he says. Picky picky. “Well what's the name of it?” I might as well just get him his silly book; he's obviously not going to go away otherwise, and would he stop waving that pen about?
“Well, I can't remember the title, but it's got a brown cover with a black spine, and I can't exactly remember what happened but I'm pretty sure it turned out that she was his mother.”
I hate people.

2:40 PM
At last! That man has gone. It took me nearly an hour to track down the book he wanted. “It turned out that she was his mother.” Good grief. I've got the desk pen back, too; I've duct-taped it back to its mooring. With any luck, the head librarian won't notice it.
When I was young, no men acted like that lunatic, blundering in and demanding a book like that. In the good old days...well, things were...good... and just as soon as I've remembered exactly how good they were, I shall write about it.

2:45 PM
Still can't remember the good old days.
2:51 PM
I've just had a horrible idea. What if there weren't any good old days? What I've been sixty-two years old forever?

2:55 PM
I feel ill.

3:30 PM
Went home on sick leave. Fed the cats, put on carpet slippers and fingerless gloves. I think I shall have tea and cheese and crackers. I hope I still have some cheese.

3:32 PM
No cheese. None at all. I shall starve and waste away and no one will care. I'm going to bed. When I wake up, I'll probably be dead. Good night.