15 III 2003 - 23:35 - cito1

On Thursday night I went to the library to do research for my two projects (one a presentation in my English class on the limited-yet-staggeringly-open topic "Gallipoli," the other a research paper for history on the impact of Stonewall on the gay liberation movement). I left the house at 3, fully intending to be back by 6, but along the way I stopped to talk to someone I'll call the Cobbler.

It's strange -- I had gotten used to Asians of the Cobbler's generation (since they are often those who were born in the mother country) not understanding what I talk about at all, and it was refreshing, after we had talked about his daughter who is learning to play the piano and about the future course of my education, just to talk a little bit of the difficulty I've had in figuring out a place for myself, in carving out a sense of belonging. Unlike some of the adults I've talked to, he didn't laugh at me or accuse me of thinking too much. Indeed, what I think was so nice about the conversation is that I found (not for the first time) the same sort of understanding -- or if not understanding, then willingness to listen -- that I've found online, that keeps me going.

It was a long conversation, but one that was good at least for me (and I did try to give him the opportunity to get back to work again if he was busy several times, so there is minimal guilt associated with that). I got on the Metro and headed downtown to the library.

The James C. Hormel Gay and Lesbian Center is actually a little room, one of many such centers dotted at the corners of I think just the third and fourth floors of the library, but I'm fond of it. The art on display tends to be sort of ugly and incomprehensible to me, but the room is always deserted for some reason whenever I go. I think it's a space where I feel comfortable just being, and taking into account the earlier talk and my quasi-official reason for being in that room (after all, it does contain the bulk of the specialized gay studies materials in the SFPL's collection), there was a wonderful (and increasingly rare, these days) sense of ease and contentment that crept over me. A safe room, books, and a sense of purpose -- what more could I ask for?

The skills to use a microfilm scanner, apparently. Having been told by the all-knowing Book of Gay Studies to look up several articles from the Advocate, I duly did so, going up to the Newspapers and Periodicals section (fifth floor) with my growing stack of books and an assumption that the microfilm scanners worked the same way as the microfilm readers did. Of course, I was wrong -- and so I spent the better part of an hour wrestling with the scanner. This did much to ruin my good humor, and the sudden realization that it was 7:30 and the library would be closing in half an hour finished the job. I grabbed the articles from the printer, checked out my books, and fled.

Why was this day important? It wasn't really, but it's one of the few times this past month that I've really felt happy, and I wanted to mention it so I could prove that I haven't been moping around for the past three months. Floodtide, your gift is duly received and cherished; I'm still trying to come up with a suitable response, but rest assured that I miss your company as well. I now owe emails to you, couchmobile, and ilonina (2) -- ack! -- and in all likelihood I shan't get to writing them until after April, when my projects are done, school is winding down (sort of), I've visited my sister, and my application for the summer is in.

Speaking of the application for the summer, my FAFSA (or more simply, financial aid) form came today in the mail and has been filled out, so now it's just those few questions on the brown sheet that stand between me and acceptance -- and oh yes, the decision of the admissions committee. Can't forget that, although it is amusing to me that people around me are beginning to speak of this as if it's a sure thing. (I'm trying to practice setting realistic goals for myself.) Of course I'm relatively sure I'll make it -- but what if I don't?

Green Apple (one of the used bookstores in these parts) had a 50% discount on some of the books from its warehouse and so I stopped by on Friday the 14th to see if I could find anything. I ended up with a couple of paperbacks -- I can't remember the authors, but the titles are "Beirut Blues" and "Obabakoak" -- and also with a copy of O'Donaill's "Focloir Gaeilge-Bearla." The dust-jacket has seen much better days, so I got the price down to 31 dollars, which is still expensive but at least better than buying it new. Now if only this purchase inspires me to begin learning and retaining anything, I'll be set...