An ode to the lib

Dear library:

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Library on top. Oh yeah.

I like you, Mr. Lib.

Anyone else feel this way? I’m way biased, I admit. I work at the circulation desk at my college’s library and it is, without doubt, a top-notch job. One, you get to read. All the time. In an ideal world we’d do our homework there but it’s somewhat shameful to use your time that wisely. And two, the way our building’s set up, the entrance is right in front of the circ desk. So us desk workers get to see every. single. person that comes in. It’s great. Whether it’s a friend, a cute guy, or just an odd duck or two, it makes shifts go fast when you get to see everyone in and out.

But recently the lib has become more like this:

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Is it too much to use a literary reference to define a library? Aargh. Oh well. The lib, thus, is my little hobbit hole (I would like you also to know that I just wrote ‘hobbit scruff’ because my mom and I were discussing Philip Philip’s facial hair and I got distracted. Hah).

I like libraries because they’re free, for one. I don’t feel obligated to buy a latte there, which I definitely do at coffeeshops, if I need someplace to go to write because being at home is driving me batshit.

But they also feel safe. It’s oddly like meditation. It’s quiet, airconditioned, and filled with this sort of holy presence (rows of books are divinity to me). Libraries aren’t trying to get something out of you. I like that. No assumptions, no expectations. Just a place you can go and do your thing, no strings attached.

In short, I get by with a little help from the lib. Anyone with me? Bookies (intentional double entendre, yes) unite!

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