For the Love of Literature (no. 2)

Some days, when I quiet my anxieties long enough to get myself to the library, I remember why I got into this gig in the first place. I'm buried in Latin dictionaries and seven different translations of Ovid, and all I want to do is sit here for the rest of the day (let the football game and the rain and the hoards of Saturday students not studying march on!) and think about the words and about what they mean and about why that makes any bit of difference in this big wide world.

It's silly, but in moments like this, sometimes I could cry I'm so happy that words and books and stories exist.

Silly, right? I know.

But kinda lovely too.