Yesterday, my experience at town meeting was an interesting epiphany and after I de-steamed over what I still see as a slap in the face in terms of town support of the library, I remembered another line from the promises: "You will know a new freedom and a new happiness." Well, if the town as exemplified by the selectmen, the budget committee and those who attended town meeting (and there sure as hell weren't many), thinks that the library doesn't need any funding for maintenance, materials or utilities, why in hell should I worry about them either. This frees me from doing any of the things that have involved non-paid time, energy or my personal funds. Beth and I have invested at least $20,000 over the last 6 years to make the library better, and I doubt that there has been one single week where I've worked less than 45 hours as opposed to the 34 I am actually paid for. I now consider myself free from any obligation to do ANYTHING that can't be done during the 34 hours I am contracted for. I now consider myself no longer obligated in any way form or manner to use one cent of my own money to improve the library collection. Sour grapes? Maybe. Tasteless and immature? Possibly. Giving me a sense of vindictive satisfaction as I sit here on a Sunday morning in May? You bet your ass.
God knows I can use the time spent on library stuff to garden, write and listen to music. Yesterday afternoon, I told Beth about the three books living in my head that I want to complete or write. I love the immersion in our back yard and the endless challenge of seeing something there or on my travels which begs to be captured on camera. Last night, I wandered around the Ireland Cemetery trying to get the perfect moon shot to use as my entry in the Level Best cover contest. I didn't get anything exactly like I have in my head, but the process allowed me to enjoy the peacefulness of an old graveyard after dark and did help me think about what I really want to capture in another cemetery at sunset tonight.
Anger isn't necessarily a bad emotion if used wisely. I don't always do so, but I was amazed by how quickly I realized the solution to three plot problems at the beginning of Last of the Mango Firecats yesterday. I had all three cleared up between turning off I-95 and the stop sign where I turned onto Route 2 in Orono.
Further fuel for optimism comes from an article from the Washington Post May 4th edition about Martha Grimes. Here's an excerpt that should be of great comfort to anyone frustrated by things not yet done. "Thirty-something years ago, Martha Grimes was a single mom with a drinking problem. She bought vodka in half-gallon jugs. She taught English 101 at Montgomery College in Takoma Park, Md., a job she couldn’t stand. She argued so vehemently with post office clerks about mailing rates for her manuscripts — she wanted the cheaper book rate — that her son, embarrassed, preferred to wait in the car. She was in her late 40s. She had never published anything. Ten days ago, the 81-year-old crime-writing doyenne accepted the Mystery Writers of America’s highest award, the Grand Master, joining legendary honorees such as Agatha Christie, John le Carre and Elmore Leonard. She has sold some 10 million copies of her books in the United States alone. Her catalog lists 31 titles. She has been published in 17 countries. She did almost all of this after she was retired, sober and over 50."