Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

The hero we need.

The hero we need.

Yesterday marked the end of my first year at the library, making me a year old. Those who were hired along with me weren’t so fortunate. Or more fortunate. Bigger and better things, I bet. And it’s some getting used to, but I think I enjoy it here. Especially with the new hires that followed. Well, one of them. Revolutionizing the reference department, namely the young adult section. More on her later. If I feel like it.

I’m uncertain about what I want to write about. There are words, but nothing’s coming out. I have an idea brewing in my head, but I look at the pen and paper y nada. I type words on the screen and everything’s all wrong. Here I thought I was getting better, but I’m only becoming worse.

Today we had a “safety meeting” at work dealing with mental health/mental illness. Apparently there’s a difference, but I’m not able to tell you because my mind was elsewhere. In bed, perhaps. With my son, maybe. I don’t know. I just know that there isn’t much I wanna talk about and so much to tell.

Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the fact that sleep has been eluding me the last few weeks. I should really start sleeping a lot earlier, but I always find some reason to ditch sleep. Not tonight. No books. No computer. No TV. Just me, my bed, and my thoughts. Let’s see how that goes.

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