My goodness, I was unmotivated at work today. I was horribly sleepy* and didn't want to contemplate the gigantic stack of books that I needed to finish cataloging. The problem with children's books is that you can work and work and work to catalog all 200 billion of them, only to produce a stack approximately three inches high. It's very dispiriting, particularly when there's another foot-high stack of the anorexic little buggers lying in wait for you.
Fortunately, work obliged my malaise by being very quiet for the first three hours. I used the fact that I won't have a chance to take down the Halloween decorations and put up Thanksgiving decorations next weekend as an excuse to print out a bunch of decorations and sat down to spend the day cutting out autumn leaves and turkeys while reading an entertaining children's book (Thursday's Child by Noel Streatfeild). Then the Stamp Club arrived and life got busier.
We now have a stamp club that meets in the library once a month. They're... pretty much exactly what you would imagine what people who belong to a stamp club would be like. Their newsletter from last month started out, "Stamp collectors aren't just a bunch of nerds" and then went on to attempt to compare themselves to Indiana Jones. Ooookay then. If you say so, dearheart. Although I'm not buying the Indiana Jones comparison unless you're actually fighting your way through 500 miles of Amazon and ruthless cannibals to find stamps at the center of temples in the heart of the jungle, not stamp shows in your local high school auditorium.** Personally, if I were them I would just let my nerd flag fly.
*partly due to Physical Issues, partly due to poor K's dire rear which required a 5:30am diaper change after her smell entered our room six feet before she did and then nearly physically shoved us out of bed when she crawled in. Yeesh. I really wish she were 100% potty trained (I would classify her at 75% at the moment), but after the third horrific diaper last night, I was awfully glad it was all going in diapers rather than... well, anywhere other than the toilet is too appalling to contemplate.
**Although I suppose that is a fairly accurate description of high school.