Books. I read a lot of books. Some weeks many books. And some weeks, it takes weeks to read {a}book. Lately, it has been the latter rather than the former scenario.
Most, if not all of the books that I read come from our local library. Well, libraries, since our library participates in a reciprocal lending program with libraries of many of the surround suburbs. I go on-line, select titles, and request a hold. The order is filled, I'm notified via e-mail and I go to our
main branch to pick up and check out my selections.
The system is usually flawless. However, the last couple of times the books there for pick up turned out to be titles I didn't remember requesting. In fact, I'm pretty sure I didn't request them.
The first time I didn't think very much about it, figured it was some fluke or what my daughter describes as me being, "51." Surely, I requested this book, I just couldn't remember having done so. Perplexing, as some years ago I'd decided this particular author, this particular serial was no longer my cup-of-tea. Ah well, I scratched my head, shrugged, my shoulders and checked out the novel and read it, albeit very slowly.
It happened again and this time I was pretty damn sure I HAD NOT requested this book. One, it was too new and two, again I this (different) author and her series were not tops on my list. She, much less so than the first does still appeal on some level but as a back-up, a filler when all else fails, kind of read. Certainly, I would not request to have held her recently released novel I had not even known existed. Still, I was resigned to take it home and read it within the three weeks of the borrowing limit, hopefully.
When a faulty self check-out scanner forced me to see a librarian I decided to casually mention the phantom, random books held under my name. She seemed as perplexed as me and deeming the entire situation, "weird." A few taps of her keyboard, some pertinent questions later and we concluded that some some alternate "me" appeared to be using a card registered to my home address (from 15 years ago) and requesting novels by authors who were, at one time, high on my preferred borrow list.
Someone had stolen my identity but instead of ruining my credit they were ordering me out of favor (my current favor) library books?
And then I began to muse about some alternate Deborahs, one retro who is reading books that I read (or might have read) 15 years ago and some futuristic Deborah who is reading books that I might read 15 years from now. I began to muse about these three Ds getting together, gathering at one of the nearby coffee huts (or sandwich shops) to have spirited discussions about bad ass lady detectives, bad ass lady artists, and bad ass ladies in all walks (and flights) of life.
Fun, the musing.
The librarian snapped me out of my reverie by asking if she should cancel the "other" information.
Yes, please do. This present day Deborah has enough of her plate keeping up with the present day books requested from our local libraries.
I don't need the added pressure from any past or future Deborah gumming up the mix.
