The pills stopped working long ago

So I had a Sales final that's due tomorrow at noon. The assignment is to basically summarize the entire book. An entire text book. By tomorrow. At noon. I didn't start until today at noon. But this morning I packed up my things and settled myself down for a long, lonely spell at the library and 6 hours and two trips to McDonalds later, I am finished. 14 pages, sucka.

6 hours sounds like a lot of hours to spend in a library working all day when there are inflatable obstacle courses and velcro walls outside on Scott Field, big circus-colored balls waving gently in the wind of a warm, but not too warm, spring day. But I like libraries, although I like older ones better and this is fairly new. But libraries just seem to breed knowledge. Like the books are so excited to know so much they whisper their words into the air and every so often my head catches one and I work a little faster. If this were an old library, I would try and find a corner to hide in and do my work - the kind of corner that you could only find if you didn't know it was there. And then I wouldn't feel like I was wasting the day by working on things I should have done last week. I would feel like I was Anne of Green Gables studying for Queens, or Matilda learning about hummingbird heartbeats. I would feel noble and pure and, most excitingly, fictional. Because fiction holds that sort of charm that realizes it has a specific purpose. An eternal specific purpose that others can read about and learn from no matter where or when. But now I'm just Anna, sipping Diet Coke from a paper cup and straw, sitting in the sterile, but not quite unpleasant Ruby E. Dare library. For now, at least, I'm content with that.