San Jacinto Library System: Problems.

 

Over the months spent in the San Jacinto Library System, I can safely say that my rights were violated not less than twelve hundred and forty-two times. When it was broadly determined that I could be forced to mount a challenge, it was all I could do to see that everything would unfold in its own rhythm. Now it was my turn to ask folks to please stop leaving things near my personal storage area. There's a kid upstairs who, if reports are to be believed, prefers wallowing in an unmoderated chatroom to engaging in performative theatrics for the benefit of his flagging sense of personal belongingness. We know that to keep him on a tight leash will take some doing, but even so, it just doesn't strike us as too particularly out of the ordinary to see him washing any old stick which might've crossed his path on the way to the hairdresser where his Mom holds court by the hour. Only anyone whose eyesight needed major adjustment would fail to see what kind of conflagration would ensue if any of us got word that one of our favorite Clergymen was arrested for marijuana possession within six hundred feet of an all-girls cheerleader convention.

Why do some people go to great lengths to appear overtly triggered when I mention my degree in Anabaptist Horticultural Semiotics? It would seem that more than a few have time to burn. They get up every morning, rush into my den, spill coffee on my iPad and then call me from overseas to ask for a 'special favor'. I live with my eyes permanently focused on reading material provided at cost to retired air stewards the world over. The problem is, when a guy who should very well know better tries to get the best of a local eye surgeon and then has the coonies to complain that he'd never been given an update on Tropical Storm Luisa, you'd have to wonder if he's all that he's been cracked up to be. Especially in light of his atrocious taste in woolen accessories as such. Now that I have more free time on my hands, I'll see to it that someone reputed to be too old for his size is never given access to a standard aviator bloodboard. No one has any idea what may happen if I'm asked to enter a verdict on the 15th of every month ending in the letter 'w'.

Anyway, so now that we all are feeling more comfortable in our skins, is it even remotely possible that one of your closest friends could be taken by shuttle bus to the opening ceremonies of the Lusaka Games? I'd be more than willing to provide copious references if his or her name is taken off the list for good. But, if one of us is asked to create a 'model cities' program, there won't be much time left to abscond with whatever funds we might be able to scrape up from the leavings of the Permanent Council. I would be more than a little embarrassed to have to assume an alternate identity in the light of underlying flight conventions. It's still hard to admit that my coating is undergoing a much overdue reconditioning. There are sources of light on this island which are not about to be pinned down without some major expenditure of co-terminous funds. I don't say any of this easily. In fact, I plan on not saying any of this at all. The least you could do is to stay close at hand while I douse some of the unused furniture with bittersweet kerosene. Are you in?

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