#librarian in training
My brain has three settings at this point in the semester:
Thinkingwaytoofastovercaffeinatedhypertenthousandthoughtspersecond and no, you can't remember any of those thoughts long enough to type them.
Completely exhausted. Cannot form thoughts. Drained.
The sweet spot of writing on autopilot, conjuring forth concepts and theories I dont consciously remember learning, crafting the perfect paper
And I cannot control how/when I cycle through each one.
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Are you a librarian? I saw that one post of yours and thought this person has probably studied library science.
aaahhh so technically, no. I do not have my MLS. I HAVE worked part time at the nearest branch of my local library system for...6 years? 5 years? what is time? (the only people our system requires to have an MLS are branch managers)
our system is pretty chill about the whole “you are NOT a librarian unless you have a masters of library science” thing. because “to the people who come in, you’re a librarian, so sure, call yourself a librarian”
so like...I am sort of a librarian? I know that that mindset isn’t typical outside of our little system enclave so I never really know how to answer that. usually I say I’m a part-time librarian
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Y'know, finals week as an undergrad was challenging. However, I could really use a care package more now while working on my last round of projects for this semester of grad school than I ever did while working on my Bachelor's degree.
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I got to teach a rando the mechanics of Toborro’s Courtyard today!
There was a call in genchat/Endgame for a dwt for TC groupfinder, and I offered to do it, since I was on Eleison. They told me to go ahead and queue. Queued up, but kept matching with a group that didn’t include the person who had asked for help. Apparently they queued and got someone else and just went with it? But someone in the group that I matched with whispered me and asked me to ready up, so I went with it.
Upon getting inside, noticed no one was setting up isotope canisters, but that’s not too big of a deal in story mode, tanks can really choose whether they want to use them in sm based on how much they want to stress out their healers, I guess. Then the discussion of who was going to take adds sort of suggested that most of them hadn’t been in TC before.
Tank pulled, positioned in between Golden Fury and the grass. All melee taking damage from Fury’s attacks. Tank stayed in for most of the first laser and nearly died (or might have died and gotten res’d, I’m not sure). Tank stayed in for second laser and died. Fury fixated on me, so I moved to the gate behind him to keep the radiation and stompy-stomps off the melee dps, but because I didn’t have isotope, I took a lot of damage, and even with dcds, didn’t do super well, and we ended up wiping. I whispered the tank and asked if they were actually tank spec or if they were dps but had just queued as tank. They responded “I can do either, but I’m tank right now.” I explained that they should probably break an isotope tank right before pull to protect them from the radiation and turn the boss toward the back wall to keep the dps from taking damage. They took my advice on the first part, but still stood with the melee dps. I pulled threat off of them pretty easily (I think they were probably not geared), and got positioned by the gate, shrouded for the first round, then got isotope during the first laser, and kept Fury’s attention for the rest of the fight. Once it was over, I whispered them to stick around so I could show them some tips if they tanked it again - how to position the canisters before the fight and when to refresh them, where to stand so that the tank is pretty much the only one taking damage from the boss, and a reminder that you have to get out for the laser.
They seemed really excited to have gotten some pointers, so I hope they had fun and get to run some good stuff.
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I only made it to day 2 of this semester before reaching the point of "I probably don't actually need to sleep"
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A complete stranger just told me I was the "competent man" character trope and I have never had such confidence in my super weird resume
“I could go on further about how Gerry is teen protagonist coded”
Look. Gerry is a YA protagonist. He is. Guys. Come on.
Parents had dramatic, yet ill-advised love story. Dad dies just after he was born. Taken by terrible, hard-ass mother to run around the world, learn how to fight demons, learn about the supernatural world, never staying anywhere for very long, never meet any other kids, never have any other friends. Trained since birth to be a monster hunter so he can continue on the family legacy. He rebels as a teenager and dramatically reinvents himself. Dramatically gets accused of killing his mother, almost gets sent to prison, doesn’t. Gets adopted by wise yet equally hard-ass mentor figure Gertrude Robinson, then jetsets around with her too. Appears randomly in other people’s lives, shows up just to save them from evil forces, disappears mysteriously into the night. Dies tragically.
This is why everybody likes him so much! Everybody vibes with how obviously protagonist coded he is. He FEELS like a major character. Like, he isn’t, but the guy is seriously basically just Sam Winchester here. I think Gerry was a protagonist in a novel I wrote when I was 14. Come on. For me he’s even more specifically a TEEN hero, which might be why he just feels teenagerey to me.
I can also say the same thing about Agnes. Chosen since birth to be the messiah of an apocalypse cult, raised in half-way homes and between clueless cultists, told she was going to destroy the world, yet chooses to reject that legacy because she wants to live a normal life, finally killing herself because she can’t achieve that life (Both Agnes and Gerry move furthest away from their YA roots in their very tragic endings - but TMA is a tragedy). That’s why I slapped them together in TCF, they are both YA protagonists. It’s very funny.
A little bit more off topic, but I’d argue that to an extent Tim is also protagonist coded. Tragic backstory, will-they-won’t-they with smart woman, hot and confident and funny and suave, yet with a lot of #innerpain. Sasha’s Love Interest coded. Martin’s....NPC coded. Daisy is also protagonist coded (to herself), but she’s definitely the protagonist of a very terrible and problematic 1970s cop movie which TMA then completely rips apart.
And Jon’s antagonist coded. Jon’s supervillain coded. Which is REALLY interesting to me.
I fuck around with these narratives roles almost every single time, because they’re super fun to fuck around with, and I think they reveal a lot about both the characters, and why we like the characters. I really do think the main reason why everybody likes Gerry so much is just the fact that he feels like a main character.
Thanks for the ask!
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frozen kongs are literally my least favorite food toy and yet they're the only ones I ever see recommended. God there are so many toys that work just as well but are way easier to clean!!
whenever I'm ready to be an actual dog trainer I want to have enrichment toys available for rent. like someone could pay a deposit equivalent to the cost of the toy, if their dog likes it they can keep it and if they don't they get their deposit back in full.
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I am indeed smiling beneath this mask ☺️
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I am unhappy.
my depression is getting worse and I think some of it is COVID isolation getting to me, but also I don’t think that’s all of it.
I don’t know if grad school is the right choice for me and I’ve been doubting it for ages but I was already in it, and I get paid, so there didn’t seem to be a reason to drop out
but now there’s COVID, and I live with my Ma who’s at risk, and I think she’s more important than a degree that I don’t know if I want it and I definitely don’t know what I’ll do with it
I haven’t gone in since mid-March and I’ve been doing stuff from home but like I work in a lab so my project hasn’t progressed for like 5 months.
and now my boss is saying she can’t fund me and the school can’t fund me past August 31st. So I either have to go back to lab or take a leave of absence.
and half of me is like, I don’t want to take a leave of absence that’ll be terrible for me. and the other half is like, I could just drop out, it’s not like I want to go back anyways. And I don’t know if it’s the depression or the covid craziness or what. and part of me is like, I guess you could switch to a master’s??? instead of being stuck at something I don’t enjoy for like 3 more years.
but also I’ve been depressed for so long that I don’t know if there’s any job I would ever enjoy long term. if I try to think of things that I like doing that I could do for work, I come up blank. I’m not made for working. and so I’m already in this program and I could finish it and it would be good for the future probably. so why not just keep going with that?
I just don’t know what to do. And I thought I would have till the end of September to decide. but now I have 3 weeks.
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With working all the time and finishing up this degree, I really feel like I'm living double lives but sadly neither is superhero persona *sigh*
Well anyway, here's a selfie no one asked for. Peep how the pandemic has resulted in my hair and beard going out ✌
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Where do you work?
I work for a college library in PA!
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I try to keep my social media presence kind of light and funny, just because why be super negative (although I’ll admit tumblr gets my angry and sad side more often because most of you don’t know me personally and I can do what I want). But like...
I’ve been working on this degree for two years now, and with the current state of the world (i.e. All of the libraries are closed because pandemic, thus limiting/completely destroying my job market for the time being) and it’s really hard to get excited about finishing something when the reason you were doing it (getting a job in a field you’re passionate about!) isn’t going to happen in the foreseeable future.
But today it hit me: I’m like a week out from my master’s degree. I almost have a master’s degree. During a pandemic and being a full-time online student (even before said pandemic) and working full time in a cafe, I worked hard and I’m getting a damn master’s degree! I wasn’t excited, but now? Now I’m starting to be :)
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Friendly reminder to actually read your assignments all the way through, it can very easily save you a lot of stress!
Listen I love B99 as much as the next fan, but I am weirdly bothered every time I see that scene where Jake dressed up as Melvil Dewey and Amy gets really into it. I get what they’re going for, but Dewey was like... super fucking racist and sexist and elitist and all those other really bad things, even for his own time!
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Another day, another pointless work selfie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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@creturae // kirara sc (any ua kid!!)
“are you trying to find something specific?” she knelt next to the other with a cocked head. she had watched them wander the library for a while now, looking lost. “i can help.”
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Today a coworker told me I didn’t have the personality of a librarian, I had the personality of a veterinarian and I’m confused. What does that even mean? What kind of personalities do veterinarians have???
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Report from Imperium Nihilus: Training of Primaris reinforcements progressing well though I feel they are rather a dense cohort. No further sign of Tyrannid incursion into Baal system - yet. Rebuilding goes slower than planned. Chief Librarian survived the rubricon and is now chasing daemonic taints. Request for further techpriests to assist with repairing Titans was denied. What is the current stance on working with Necrons? Do not send Inquisition to Baal.
[Reallocating more resources by Terran order from religious groups to infrastructure repair and refurbishment.
Further techpriests and magi will be conscripted from forge worlds.
Communication with the next in line to the Necrontyr throne goes smoothly. Communication with one of the triarchy also goes smoothly but slowly. Assistance is possible.
Inquisition is more interested in trying to assassinate I. R. P. R. Guilliman.]
The formal message ended. "How are you Dante?"
Pearl Train Fiction.
I am on a train from southern Spain, going to France, exhausted. There is an old man sitting across from me, talking to another man roughly forty years younger.
I am trying to read The Search for Modern China, by Jonathan D. Spence. I am in an abysmal mood, except the voice and the sound of the train as it curves on in the night is, as imaginable, not unpleasing. So I forgive the subject.
‘You are going to Granada for the holiday?’
‘I hadn’t planned to,’ says the other.
‘Oh. It is a lovely time of the year there. And Granada bags, to gainsay,’ said the older man, ‘are worth perhaps four opera tickets in Paris.’
‘Besides, the maker is a friend from Mallorca. He had been there, visiting his brother-in-law, the last I went to the market, but is in Granada most of the year. They were at work selling three dozen cows and a Lipizzaner so that their sons go the following spring to the Sorbonne.’
‘I recall, family concerns had brought me to a bed and breakfast, which speaking Arabic I was happy to find, as I hoped my sister didn’t worry and writing her and assuring her this that I stood to arrive home from business in North Africa, mostly Morocco (I am researching osteopathic sciences of antiquity for a lab experiment in Barcelona) in other words I arrived brutally exhausted, a short distance west of an harbor built against a small out cropping: the sea’s edge, on a mountainous road heading up into the desert where live Morocco’s gentry and down which, looking out my window, I saw a tall man and a large motorcycle come riding.
‘He pulled up into a parking area, outside a restaurant which I had visited that morning, where gathered the walking dead: the scientists and librarians I had found in my travels, the sort global industry tries to pull from out the ruin of war and poverty, even as the narrow views of a weathered and threat embargoed state system renders it miraculous to do the likes of, only a great deal poorer. I ran from the Inn where I was writing an email on the telephone, for the language of the boats-men, I had found, might render it difficult to arrange a ride across to Spain again without a decent interpreter, a score with which I imagined the unknown man able to help, as among the landed gentry there is a great likelihood that someone speaks Spanish.’
‘Inside the restaurant, I heard of his living in Granada, and I asked if he was going back to Spain immediately. There was a man sitting beside him I assumed he had come there to see, speaking loudly, Arabic, and making broad gesticulations. We were sitting at a bar in the front of the restaurant, but as the bar tender, offering politely, showed the three of us a menu, we made a choice to take a table. Then, as we were waiting for the meal, the man I had never seen told us a story which was so moving that I felt unable to move until the waiter brought us the food.’
‘The man said that when he was a University student, he had studied under the auspices of a famous Moroccan man of science, a professor of physics and astronomy. The professor taught a masters class of only twenty or thirty so students, of whom the man was one. One year, however, the professor traveled to lower Africa for a medical conference. There, he entered into dispute with a local chief over the name of a planet. The name would only have meant that a traveling man of that tribe had not returned to the village at the time that he had promised, for the planet in question that year had risen with Pisces, which was now in aspect. But the dispute lead to a fierce knife fight, and the professor was slain.’
'He said: “Pursuing an education had become something indescribable after the professor’s death”. We sat there in our chairs like ghostly ships as the story was told.’
‘Soon, the man telling the story arose in his seat, radiant like a point of light which persists after looking directly at the sun. Like a camel, he carried with him the mood of his listeners through a desert, immaculate and impervious, of anguish, with spiders so large they can consume portions of cattle and small animals such as rabbits and squirrels. The story, not just the concatenation of events but the gestures, the subtlety with which he referenced himself, the oriental nature, almost surrealist, of his wild gesticulating and the poise of his sitting, put his listeners before the menu of low priced food in such a way as very little movement among us took place, while the man stood up and spoke to a third party about the nature of travelling from Morocco to Spain on my behalf.’
‘Naturally, the two of them were able to instruct me on how to return, and arriving safely, the maker of the Granada bags and I have remained in touch every year.’
At that moment, the train arrived at my stop in Southern France, Troubadour France, and I got off, saying 'Adios’ to the pair of gentlemen as I stepped off of the train.
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