twosmallmonsters

"In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good- humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am nestled among millions of written words. I am reading reading reading. I have carved a day out of my schedule to spend at Northwestern Library reading every and any book of my fancy. I can easily recall my short-lived librarian career where I often rebelled against my typical work ethic. I would rather settle down onto the musty orange carpeting to read than stand and shelve my life alphabetically. Usually I carried a small notebook where I copied call numbers and titles of books that I had shelved and loved. Today I settle among 3South and think of John who toiled away in 4East among history texts and coffee grounds until he scripted an award winning thesis.

Outside the sky is very gray. We have not seen the sun in over two weeks. Lake Michigan, a Midwestern centerpiece on which to fixate, captures the essence of a barrel of dead fish: it is the color of scaly steel and vacant.

I loved you here but now I realize I have outgrown you. I am surrounded by faces I do not recognize, sky scrapers that are cold and metallic, and tiny girls who roll their eyes and hang on the arms of boys who try too hard. It is only in the comfort my study stall -surrounded by Emerson, Anna, and Style - that I can feel you longingly around me. So it is Emerson …crafted above … that I hum softly and repeatedly as I wander your house for the very last time this winter.