In the works

Oh, I am too tired to wake up. I am too tired to go to work at the library. But here I am at the library anyway, too tired to shelve or even to look over the books in an assessing, how-would-it-be-to-read-this way. I am too tired to remember to only breathe through my mouth to protect myself from the smelly man in the north wing. How tired am I? I can stand. I like the rain. And I can blog. Well, look at that, I can still blog.

Last night, on my evening break, I went into the break room and left it dark and wrote. Sometimes I am mighty here on clerkmanifesto. But sometimes my blog is just a dream world. I find a staircase that goes down and down and down and down. And it is all gears and machinery in there, clicks and squeaks and gentle grinding. The grand, gloomy, and fuming works are dull brass and pewter and I cannot see to the end of them. A cool wilderness of the works for me to see my breath in. I burrow deep into the vast rows of machines. I crouch down to make everything small and close, and I tinker with nothing. I mutter quietly about how beautiful it is outside even as outside is miles away.

It is, you know, beautiful, even in the dreary rain. I was thinking of going out there, but some other time. I mutter, and this is what you hear.

Sometimes I wish, just a little, that this blog weren't so very, very famous, and I could tell you things like this.