Saturday, June 17, 2017

Forty-five Degrees

In the library where I now am, not my regular-home-library, nor even my every-weekend-and-occasional-other-times library, but a nearly-new-and-almost-foreign library, there is a corner, just one, with two long thin windows on each side of it, sort of facing one another, at a forty-five degree angle, or some sort of degree angle, I guess I don't actually know what the facing-each-other angle is, but the corner is a forty-five degree corner, so I was just guessing.  

Anyway, a few inches beyond the outside edge of each tall thin window is the ten-inch wide end of a bookshelf, standing out from the wall.  It makes a great little sitting and reading spot, which, if I were forty years younger (O my god) I would immediately take advantage of and never leave.  

I would sit cross legged completely inside this little space, lit by two tall thin windows and enclosed by two bookcases, and read to my heart's content.  Even now, forty years older and forty million pounds heavier, I am still tempted to give it a try.  Pretty sure I would fit, but the thought of attempting to arise from my cross-legged posture -- dear me, no.  Horrible idea.  I wouldn’t be able to lever myself properly, and would get completely stuck, or my dislocatable knee would dislocate when I was halfway up, and freeze me, bravely trying not to shriek, in a ridiculous and extremely undignified position.


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