So, school’s going well. I’m busy, but once I manage to push through the cobwebs of “ohmydogthisissomuchworkandwhatamIevendoinghere” it’s actually kind of fun, and refreshingly straightforward compared to, say, trying to write a decent poem. So why do I, at least once a week, become convinced that I’ll never finish, or that I’ll never find work, or that I’ll be the worst librarian ever? The crazy, I guess.

This week, I’m especially busy, with term papers and group presentations looming on the horizon. And I find myself wishing for all sorts of crazy things, mostly that I’d done this years ago and were securely ensconced in some sort of cushy-shushy library job someplace, wearing cardigan sweaters and stripey socks and, I dunno, flirting with itinerant music men. You know, librarian stuff.