So I spend a great deal of time in the public library. To be honest, I’m there nearly every day. It’s quiet, has a good internet connection, is very close to my home, and there are a whole bunch of books on a variety of subjects that interest me. It seems like a sensible place to spend my over-abundance of spare time.
I rarely do much reading while I’m in the library. Most of my time is spent working on my laptop, or looking for new books to check out. I then read the books at home. Though the library is nice and quiet, I prefer curling up in the cozy chair in my bedroom with a cup of coffee or tea. Because nothing is more relaxing than having a nice cup of tea over a book about teenagers fighting to their deaths, or Taliban controlled Afghanistan, or living with a severe mood disorder. It does the body good.
At my house I currently have over twenty library books. They are all on the subjects of achieving happiness, stories of people who have lived through depression, the history of mental illness, and overcoming a serious mood disorder. Actually, I think I have nearly half of the library’s resources on mood disorders in my bedroom.
I try not to trouble myself by worrying too much about what complete strangers might be thinking about me, but I do it anyway. Every time I go to check out a book I imagine the librarian thinking, “Hmmm, another mental illness book. Obviously somebody is crazy…” Though I’d prefer to believe she is thinking, “Oh, she must be researching mood disorders for some kind of project. That’s interesting”. Or maybe she just thinks I’m some introverted and unemployed girl with way too much time on my hands. Which is fairly accurate. Or maybe nobody in the library notices me at all and I just think too much…