Literary Grief

This is so stupid. I lost a library book today, and I almost cried. I missed school today to attend a writing seminar at Central Library which turned out to be way below my expectations. After the meeting I walked through the library to find a place to read this book I had; for such a spectacular library, there is no reading room. I eventually went into the children’s room. After a while of reading I decided to leave. This morning I was on page 72 and by this early afternoon I was past 120. This is an easy and interesting read, I should be done by tonight. I was excited.

The title of this book is The Cassiopeia Affair. It is an under-the-radar science fiction novel I came across some weeks ago when I first started exploring and getting a feel for the Central Library. It was one of those books that I connected with a few sentences into the first page.

Overall today was a quiet and tender day, cloudy and a little wet, and time was moving along like syrup. I felt bored, tired, and sad enough. On my bus ride home though, I felt nice. I was listening to a woman behind me speak about Christianity and matters of prophecy. At first I was annoyed, but when I took time to listen to the arguments she was giving to a man near her I realized that she was commenting on female prophets and their value to the religion. It was a very feminist perspective I realized, as she explained the strength of woman’s abilities and influence in relation to man during those times. Interesting take.

Midway through the trip I started to feel very comfortable. The bus was not crowded or loud. There were no homeless or insane people around. The air conditioning was on, and the sterilized air smelled good. After a while I played some music recently added to my iPod. I closed  my eyes and relaxed. I opened them a while later to notice that the man ahead of me who had been previously engaged in a lively Arabic conversation had fallen asleep.

My stop arrived. I calmly got up to exit the bus, looking at the sleeping Arab man as I left. It wasn’t until I was off of the bus that I felt off. I checked my arm and I noticed nothing was there. The bus door was open. Is it in my bag or on the seat? Should I get back on? No, no I have it I’m sure. No, you don’t, think again! Too late. The door closed. I jerked forward in a last attempt to correct my judgment, but I soon became paralyzed by my mistake. The bus was still there, inching off slowly because of traffic. Should I run? Run! Too late. The left signaling light went on as I pathetically tried to catch up to the vehicle. It drove off soon after that.

I stood around feeling lost, even though I was only 8 blocks from home. I turned around to the gas station I’d been dropped off in front of, and noticed that someone was leaving the exit driveway. Maybe I should hitch a ride and ask them to follow the bus. No, no that’s stupid – don’t do anything you’ll regret. I called my dad instead and explained my situation. He said that I would just have to pay for it. It threw me off that the thing he would bring up was money. That was the least of my problems. I wanted to finish the story. I told him that I needed a ride because I knew the bus would have to stop at a transit center for 30 seconds to a minute at the most. He asked to know where I was and I told him the street that I was on and the streets that I was in between. He had trouble understanding. Eight minutes later there I was standing around waiting, grunting and feeling stressed. Two minutes after that another bus of the same number passed by me. I knew then that it was over. If this bus is here, then the other one was long gone towards South Bay. The driver looked at me, and she frowned like she knew that something was wrong. I wanted to wave out to her, but she was in the left lane – no use. I sat on the ground and moaned. Then I got up and wished my dad would just appear before me. I sat down. The I got up.

My dad called again saying that he didn’t understand me and that I need to give directions better. Fifteen minutes in was when he arrived. We drove to the transit center and saw nothing. “Where do you want to go now?” he asked.
“I just want to go home.” I felt my left eye glaze over slightly. I pulled down the knit hat I was wearing to dab at it. I had been trying to hold back emotion. Who cries over lost books? That’s as silly as crying over spilled milk, if not more so.

Even now my jaw is still held tight and I’m beginning to have a slight headache, but I won’t cry. I refuse to. I thought over the events and I know exactly why this happens, making tears all the more pointless. I doubt myself. I second guess myself all the time and have such a weak self esteem that I wouldn’t trust myself on anything really. I noticed this many times this school year because a friend brought my attention to it. He always noticed that I had the habit of not trusting myself to perform calculus operations during the times he tutored me. He said that I often had the right approach or conclusion and listening to the second voice rather than the first was where I went wrong many times. I fight my intuition to the end on everything now, as I did went I got off the bus.

It is strange, because when I was younger I had a very sound intuition and I always trusted or at least put great faith in my thoughts. But growing up has warped this process. Finding that many people around me cannot be trusted to their word or much else, I had grown to be a skeptic. For fear of the pain I just chose to ignore other people’s statements and soon my own thoughts and choices. Especially in school I would always be watchful of saying the wrong answer or putting myself out there with the right answer only to be ridiculed or disliked anyway. At home emotions that made my parents uncomfortable were not allowed. Over the years my behavior and speculations always bothered someone. I was either too dramatic, too emotional, too enthusiastic, too quiet, too silly, or the words were too big or something. I had to tame myself to be normal. I learned not to trust myself through the years either.

That’s quite a profound conclusion over something as simple as leaving a novel on a bus seat, but this is what I believe. Either way I was in the mode again. I was reading again, and just in the process of picking up the fast pace that I used to have when reading. Now that I have given up on the rest of my senior year I find myself going to this library often, reveling in the freedom I forced for myself, the freedom of not being graded or stalked over my book choices. I tried to read another book I checked out, but I’m too upset right now. Maybe I should just cry and get it over with – there is another copy there. My frontal lobe is aching right now.

I feel awful about this. A book. I lost a book. Why do I care so much about silly things like this? Books and the state of schools? My emotions have been rubbed so raw that I breakdown over anything I guess. I’m so tired.

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Posted on May 27, 2010, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. We all have days like this. Feel better soon 🙂

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