I visited my old work place yesterday.
For 3 years I worked at the library. Those three years I barely blogged. But I loved it.
It’s weird to go back. I feel like I should wait on myself or answer the phone or pick up a scanner and help check out the long line of people at the front desk. Sometimes I stay away because it’s hard to stay in front of the circulation desk and it still fells very odd to walk in the front door instead of the staff entrance.
But yesterday after work I was left with some time to kill. And books to return and holds to pick up. So I went.
I miss the books so much. To be surrounded by them. To get to watch them pass by on daily basis. I never had to search for a good book they just landed in my lap so to speak.
I left the library because the full time job and awkward hours of the events programmer had just become too much for me at the time. I left because it had become an aggressor to my personal life. My family life. And it has been for the best it really has.
But oh my, I miss the books the most.
I don’t read anything terribly inciteful or thought provoking or of great literary standing. I read for fun. To escape.
These were my selections on this voyage to the stacks.
My former coworker amuses himself by making fun of my selections. But I have told him many times my book and movie selections are for my entertainment not his.