![]() They would be whatever they needed to be that day: information professionals, teachers, police, community organizers, computer technicians, historians, confidantes, clerks, social workers, storytellers, or in this case, guardians of my peace. Civil servants and servants of civility, they had my back. I knew the librarians would help me figure out anything I needed to know later-I was under the librarians' protection. I'm sure it didn't matter if the book had RFID tags or a checkout card with a ladder of scrawled names, though tags were neat. ![]() ![]() Yes, exactly: I needed to be under a didn't matter who I was, or what I did, or where I paid taxes, or how long I stayed. The relief of being in someone else's hands. Not a manual: something with a narrative, a chute built by a writer and waxed until the reader fell into it and skittered right to the end without stopping. ![]() Perhaps I was suffering from a touch of information sickness? If I could weed out my thoughts.There was one reliable cure I've found, a bit of the hair of the dog-the release in reading. “I regretted my human form briefly it would be so much easier to drag and rope information into the brain as neatly as one dragged and dropped information on the computer. ![]()
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