Girl Becomes Librarian, Fears Premature Spinsterdom

I don't know what this is going to be about, but based on previous experience I can promise that it will be harrowing and bewildering. Perhaps, at turns, entertaining. A couple things we should consider:

1. This blog needs a new name. And I can't take the pressure, man. I'm sure my friends could help because they're all linguistic geniuses--just in the last few days I have been dubbed a "mythical Banshee of the Lake" (new boyfriend, drunk) and "a lightning rod for awesometude" (best friend). Whoops, guess I just inserted my own rave reviews. I'll think of something, but I care too much so it might take a while.

2. This blog is an immigrant. All it has ever known is being a lonely stranger in Italy. Please be patient as it gets its footing in a place where everything is familiar and expected and people do supremely ridiculous or baffling things less often than one would hope. We're not in Italy anymore, Dorothy. Ah, culture.

Haven't written a thing since May and it's because I was too busy trying to forget, turn pages, white wash walls. College was hard. Italy was hard. I came home from my European adventures, officially graduated from college with muddy feet, made my hair bright, ran a lot of miles, got some jobs, dated all of my friends and most of the men in Annapolis, aspired to vegan extremes, learned how to throw a punch. Now I have a pension. I'm 22 years old and I have a freaking pension.

I'm sure I'll never conquer my natural restlessness. I've been endlessly on the move to escape my head, to discover new things, to meet people, to win some game that I don't even know how to play and probably made up in the first place. It's as a smart dude once said: "I run very fast because I desperately want to stand very still."

And now here I am, working as a librarian one mile down the street from my oldest, longest home.

That's what this blog is about, I suppose.

Thanking the snow deities for a 2.5 day work week.


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