September 26, 2012
The reaction makes it all worthwhile.
Dear Self, I am writing to Self from the University College London Main Library. More specifically, the Public Policy, Human Rights, et al. Reading Room. It's a lovely place, certainly. Just today, as I walked to this particular room, to sit down at this particular desk [ad infinitum] to write this little note-to-self, the scent of the library — mmm — I am distracted. I am rambling. What was I talking about? Right, the scent of the library. Mmmmm. To a scholar, the scent of a library excites, but also serves as a monotonous drone — right. There are a bunch of fellows here, thumbing through the books and trying to look academic, and such. I am quick to judge them as a bunch of tossers, twats, nincompoops, whatever. They are most certainly loud-mouthed people who fail miserably (and in a distracting fashion) at whispering. There, too, is a nice sir sitting diagonal from me. When I sneeze, he says "bless you". Well, bless him — how kind. It is the first time anyon
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