I create drama.
Not the performance kind. Not the theater major song-and-dance kind. Not even the VBS skit kind.
Nope. Not any of the good drama.
The ugly kind.
The interpersonal relationships gone amuk kind.
The I'm-offended-so-who-can-I-talk-to-about-my-angst kind.
It's not nice. I'm not proud of it. I'm pretty sure I have to change.
Now that I've made you all uncomfortable with my True Confession Stand and stated a problem the solution to which I have not yet arrived, I'm going to talk about something else.
Being Monday, yesterday was Library Day for us. While there, I contemplated a conversation I had with one of my voracious reader types. A conversation where I did all the talking with a little moralizing liberally sprinkled throughout. It wasn't so much of a "conversation" as "Lecture Lite." I had been discussing my child's great love of reading at the expense of doing anything else. This, I informed him, he inherited from me. I love to read. I love to read way more than I love to work or exercise or sing or help people or be creative. I really love to read. I don't get books from the Library any more because I will stop everything to read. Reading is important, but other things have to be more important.
I don't know if the kid in the back seat was impressed with my admission of zero self-control or the great sacrifice that I have made. But I was.
And sitting in Archbold Community Library, waiting for story hour to end, this conversation refreshing itself in my mind, I thought: "This is ridiculous. I love to read. I can control myself. I will prove it by getting a book out and only reading a little bit of it every day. Lunch and bedtime. That's all I will read. But I better get a biography, because it's easier to put a boring book down than something designed to be entertaining."
So I marched over to the biography section and made two selections.
Unfortunately, one of them was about one of the better-known Drama Queens of the 20th Century: Nellie Olsen.
Yeah, I didn't accomplish all that much yesterday.
Disclaimer: The little girl behind the blond curls in everyone's favorite Prairie TV Show had a terrible real life. And she uses some bad words in discussing her terrible life. So don't go reading this book in one afternoon and then be mad at me. Because I'm not saying I recommend it. I'm not un-recommending it either. I'm being ambiguous. OK?
|Someone else has little "dramatic" moments. She's no Nellie Olsen yet...|