Let's talk about doing things right.

At work on Monday there was very little to do, so in the absence of all normal librarian work I was asked to assemble some new office furniture -- a sort of shelving unit. When I went upstairs to the office where I was supposed to find the shelving unit in question, the lady there looked exceedingly distressed that I hadn't brought a book truck with me. "It's REALLY heavy" she said of the shelving thingymabob. And of the boxes of padded envelopes that I was also supposed to fetch, "They're not that heavy but they're THIS BIG," pantomiming a box that came up to my waist.

(For the record, due to the obstacle course of turnstiles and stairs and inconveniently-located elevators that only let you into certain parts of certain floors and some of which are operated by keys I don't possess, I have found that it is almost never worthwhile to bother with book trucks. In fact I can't imagine how the people who shelve books manage to get anywhere.)

But I smiled at the lady and got directions to where the boxes had been left and assured her that I would go back for a book truck if I needed to. The shelving unit was not that heavy at all, and the boxes were far closer to knee-high than waist-high. It did take two trips, but as the boxes were far too big to fit on any book truck I couldn't really see how it would have made things easier. I was unnecessarily impressed with myself for being able to carry far more than it looked like I could. Sometimes it is nice to have secret powers.

For the next hour I got to play with glue and nails as I put the thing together, and at the end I was filled with a sense of accomplishment at having a tangible, solid object to show for my effort. I am getting to feel fairly competent at other aspects of my job too. I was pleased with myself last night because in less than fifteen minutes I had finished paperwork and packaging for three interlibrary loan books, a task which used to take endless agonizing and checking to make sure I hadn't forgotten any of the many crucial steps. These days I spend too much time thinking and thinking and thinking myself in circles, and nothing ever comes of it but more angst and frustration and insecurity. But when I am doing instead of thinking, and doing things well, I have little moments of positivity. I can still be a basically functional human being, and there are shelving units and piles of packaged books to vouch for that fact.

But my real secret power is not interlibrary loan, or assembling or lifting things (obviously, since my lifting skills are only notable when compared to librarian-girls of my approximate size.) I still feel most accomplished when, during my dinner break, I can take a thought or a phrase that has been turning itself over in the back of my mind and begin typing a poem from it. And then the rhyme and rhythm begin to come, making their own music, and I try not to force them, trying to see what patterns they will form on their own. And at the end it is a little rough, but the music is there, and I email it to myself and know that I can refine it later and make it truly shine. This is the only thing that I am sure I know how to do, that I think I was born to do, after all these years it is still my one innate talent. It won't make me much of a superhero; in fact, it probably won't make me much of anything at all. But it is one thing that keeps me going, having the ability to create from nothing these little things that are truly mine.