Libraries are for Lovers

I rotate between several writing spots in my neighborhood. The community Starbucks, of course, whose many downsides include constant seating limitations and a complicated Wi-Fi process that makes me feel angry. Then there's the hip & funky local coffee shop (owned by the same family who runs the hip & funky local bar next door) which used to have free Wi-Fi until a day ago ($5 minimum now, and of course, the drinks are just sliiiightly underpriced and the food is waaaay overpriced), and often is either too hot or too cold for this fussy chica. And then there's the library. Which is where I am today.

The library is undervalued, I think, except by the blossoming seas of underemployed. I realized the other night, as I lay in bed (because apparently when I lay in bed I think about public book lenders), the problem with the influx of job-seekers is that the library becomes...not a library. The books are forgotten. There aren't even that many of them. There's a good DVD section. Some very useful free computer stations. A printer. Lots of little round tables with midget chairs for children. Three open rooms with once-plush chairs. And an entire center section for all those desperately searching for jobs to spread out their resumes and laptop wiring as they click "Submit," "Submit," "Submit." Don't get me wrong, I AM ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE. I have spent disgusting amounts of time in these miniature chairs. (NOTE: There is not one child in any of the children chairs today. Eleven adults, though...) But, I love a good library for what it represents: available literature to all who crave words. Ready worlds that don't exist but in your hands and your eyes.

Maybe libraries are on the way out. Who reads books anymore? Who read newspapers? Who needs a building when you can spend a couple hundred on a Kindle and take your library with you? No, I refuse to believe it. Nothing is free in this world. Not even, really, libraries, since they are paid for by taxes and by the town. But this is a safe place, in a world of meanies and jerks. This is a place where you are allowed to escape, and it's meant to be quiet, and cell phones are not allowed. (Can you hear my typing, lady in pink shirt and blue shorts?! CELL PHONES ARE NOT ALLOWED. Gah!) It's a vortex in here, like I don't even really exist. Except for the fact that I am here, typing on my laptop, connected to the internet, still hooked into the beeping, charging world outside. Oh poo.

I go to the library to write because it is free. I don't have to buy a coffee I don't want. The bathrooms are clean. The floor is clean. It is (mostly) quiet. I can pick up a DVD for a couple days while I am here. I am reminded that I am constantly looking for a job, but it's okay, because so is everyone else. I am reminded that I love words. I put them together into strings as I sit here surrounded by the strings of others who did the exact same thing I did with many of the same words and the exact same letters, and one day found themselves employed.