I love the library! It, along with the office supply aisle in Target, are my happy places. Stressed? Go to the library. Sad? Go to the library. Want to spend money because you're bored? Go to the library!
I tend to borrow a million books from the library at a time, but to be perfectly honest I only read about 50% of them on a good week. I used to feel like I needed to finish every book that I started, but a few years ago I decided that I'd give books a few chapters and then I could return them guilt-free if I wasn't feeling it. Here are a few of my fave recent reads.
Worth a read from The Nets
"Researching her film The Story of Stuff, Annie Leonard discovered that of the materials flowing through the consumer economy, only 1% remain in use six months after sale. Even the goods we might have expected to hold onto are soon condemned to destruction through either planned obsolescence (breaking quickly) or perceived obsolesence (becoming unfashionable)."
- From "The Gift of Death" by George Monbiot
I used to loooove writing. But after working for a boss* for the better part of a decade who loved redlining everything I sent to him until I saw red, it kind of stopped being a source of joy and I felt extremely self-conscious to share anything I'd written. I'm finding the fun in writing again, though, after completing an 8 week writing class at our local community center. It was me, two other youngsters, and a whole bunch of senior citizens and I LOVED it! The writing teacher was such an interesting character and my fellow classmates were so encouraging and talented. At the beginning of the class, I could barely complete a prompt, let alone read it aloud, and by the end I was actually excited to share my writing, however imperfect as it may be, with my classmates. There's a month break now between classes so I'm going to share some of my favorite prompts from class.
He brought her flowers on her birthday and wrote her sweet nothings in cards, but she thought the most romantic thing he did every year was scrub the Christmas tree sap out of the rug.
She felt self-conscious as she looked down at the stretch marks rippling across her thighs. He smiled at her, paying them no mind.
* I will admit that my former boss was a good editor and helped make me a better writer. His style, though, killed my joy and made me hate storytelling.