There are good days and there are bad...

There are really, and I wonder why the day felt so wrong and so bad. I got to ride my motorcycle to work, that was a good thing although the promise of rain awaited the afternoon and evening. I had four bins of mail and two boxes of books, so it was two trips up and down the steps but that wasn't a problem. Maybe the email with the announcement of the resignation of one of the other library keepers bothered me or started the darkness descending. The crew showed up, and worked well, the patrons showed up and bothered everyone - but that is their job and they do enjoy it. Still I guess it is the feeling of alone, in the midst of peopled plenty. There was that very formal and threatening Memo from the Communications Officer of the Office of the Secretary of State, all about blogs and their proper use and the destruction of your life if you misuse a blog or the State Owned equipment and Heavens won't help you if you actually say something that isn't in accordance with the Office. Sam Reed is a better man than the memo, but he does get protection and loses my support because of it. Those two items could have been my weights dragging my Will down... Will being my grandfather's, and mine and potentially my grandson's secret name. Everyone should have a secret name.

There were other things in the email but I wasn't picking up on anything that didn't have to do with my support of the library, I was too gloomy. I guess looking at Time magazine and People magazine during processing and finding out that I hadn't made the 100 most influenza people or BEAUTIFULL people for the year bothered me. All I know about beauty is that it begins and ends in the heart, and grows as it is shared, and I like to think that influence can't be measured by polling data, money raised, ad campaigns won - influence is butterfly effects and finding out that something one did or said had a good result somewhere beyond the scope of the originator.

I told my wife about Socrates today, it was part of a discussion she was listening to and she wanted to know why he was important - since she hadn't heard of him before. Yesterday, I processed and linked many of our new books and two about the start of the Revolution had come in, Lexington and Concord and Paul Revere's Ride. I told the inmate workers to look up Samuel Whittemore, and they did and read about him. I would get to tell the story one more time as I rode the bus from the dock to the parking lot where the Trusty Triumph waited, wet with the afternoon downpour. The rain - which broke for my time on the road going home and I was mostly dry but very happy when my wife opened the garage door for my motorcycle. By the time I had some hot bean soup warming me up I was a happy man again, blest as always. Wonder if I will ever go back to work?