Boy, This Pen is Really, Really Heavy!

So, I think my writing muscle is starting to flag from underuse. I first noticed it this morning when I bumped the knob on my car radio and KLIN accidentally came on. All these neurons starting firing and I knew what I should do. I knew I should change the channel but I could not will my writing arm to slither on over and fiddle with the buttons. So I just left it there. On Rush Limbaugh's station.

Now, who's the big fat idiot?

And so, I vow to stretch my writing muscles again, flabby as they may be. I will myself to write something--anything--knowing that admitting I have no stories to tell is the first step to finding a story worth telling.

My mind wanders over the details of my morning, finding neither a hook nor a good line along the way. Instead, all I can think about are all the boogars and germs and teen ickiness that passed from the students' greasy hands into mine today, as I took their rolled up dollar bills and sticky quarters, absolving them of their library sins.

"Go and sin no more...or at least remember to renew in three weeks."

I recall cursing Mr. Dewey this morning as I read nonfiction shelves (the 800s, to be exact). Reading shelves is the penultimate "librarian" duty that, to this day, has done nothing but brought shame, misunderstanding and really well organized rows of books to my profession. I crouched close to the matted carpet as my eyes scanned the spines of books that had not seen the light of day since shortly after they'd rolled off Gutenberg's press. For several, my touch was the first human contact they'd had in a very long time. One practically quivered as my fingers lingered over its pleather cover.


And then there was my midmorning visit to the lady's room, the visit in which I nearly baptized myself in...well, myself. As I eased out of my Gloria Vanderbilt stretch denims, I could feel my beloved Pilot Precise V5 pen make its way to the lip of my pocket. Just as it threatened to tumble into the pissy abyss, I swung around to capture it, my official school ID dangling precariously within the bowl's recesses. That was some scary sh...anyway, trust me when I say it was a close call.

In so many ways, today was an ordinary day, one hardly worth mentioning. I spent much of it against a backdrop of tinny teen music, punctuated with a couple of memorable student projects, one good tongue lashing, a few tears, some laughs and a vigorous round of midafternoon yawns.

I write about today not because it is worth mentioning, but because my muscles need a good stretch and you have to start somewhere, after all.