Was forced to spend an entire day in regional new employee orientation meetings, even though I have been working at the library for over two months.  Was excited to get some pretty things in the mail today, only to rush home and find it is Columbus "let’s destroy the native culture" Day and the mail is not running.  He didn’t even really ever come to America. He "discovered" and island that he named Hispanola. What an arse.  And now am sitting in cataloging class, a.k.a. hell.  Okay, well, it’s not that bad, but it’s definitely the worst class I’ve ever had in grad school.

I did neglect to mention that on a particular ride at King’s Island, I was assigned to seat 11 (which, coincidentally I realized when "In My Life" was playing over the speakers).  For most people this doesn’t seem to be significant at all, but I’ve sorta had this thing happening lately with the numbers 11, 111, 1101, and 1111.  I see them everywhere.  It started out with just being 1111, but has expanded in the past few months.  You might be saying to yourself, ‘ oh, she’s just looking for the number,’ but no!  Here are couple of examples, of which I have hundreds: when I got my key to the library, 11 [space] 1 was stamped on it; in my first reference practicum the other day, I was assigned question # 111.  I see the numbers on shirts, license plates, ads, phone numbers, addresses, and the clock.  And it’s not like I’m staring at the clock waiting for it to turn a certain time–a couple of times I’ve happened to look in a mirror when it was 10:11.  What does it mean?  I have not the slightest.  But it really does get ridiculous (I think that’s my word-of-the-moment…) sometimes.  So maybe I’ll write blog it when some interesting 11 combination shows up in the future.

Tomorrow back at work, I promise I’ll write of my love for lyrics and post a picture of Ted.  He’s ready for his close-up.