My tiny Lenovo has ceased to function. Though I still hold hope that it will revive, as it has several times before, I know that there’s a limit to the number of times a computer can be dropped, spilled on and generally abused before it quits once and for all.
And so I’m sitting in the blessedly cool county public library, which is also the library of the Towhee Canyon High School, and is open Mondays and Wednesdays during the summer. I love libraries. Their smell, their often awkward furniture, the sense of calm and focus they impart that enables me to actually get work done. I look forward to going to the library to write; it makes me feel purposeful and effective, like I have the power to make reasonable decisions, to follow through on often amorphous goals.
It’s bloody hot. More than a minute in the direct sunlight is intolerable, and since I wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and cowboy boots in honor of my visit to the courthouse to apply for the job of part-time dispatcher to the sheriff’s department, the invariably air-conditioned indoor spaces around town provide an especially delightful respite. I stayed in the lobby of the post office reading a Good Housekeeping article on child beauty pageants in order to forestall the dreaded moment when I’d have to return to my oven of an un-air-conditioned truck. Although if I’m completely honest, I have to admit that child beauty pageants do exert an unwholesome fascination.
I’ll stay here until the kind and helpful librarian kicks me out. She’s not only helpful to those such as me who would navigate Colorado’s inter-library loan system; at the moment she’s acting as the go-between in a negotiation over pork. “How thick do you want those pork chops? He says a half inch is what you usually get in the grocery store. You want your sausage hot or mild?”