A Depressing Post for Those Interested in Columbian Expeditions

I was searching for lost books in the stacks on Monday, an activity akin to searching for a pointy needle in a barrel full of other pointy needles organized by a blind chimpanzee on crack, when I realized one of my greatest pet peeves. I hadn't even known it was a peeve until this point, which I didn't think was possible. Can you be annoyed by something even if you don't know you're being annoyed by it? Hm, very zen, like that whole 'tree-falling' conundrum. In any case, I have unilaterally decided that, yes, I can be annoyed without knowing it for years. To hell with years of philosophical debate; I say yes, and yes it is.

Back to my point, however, I hate that I wasn't born knowing every written language on the face of the earth. And, really, what were my parents thinking?! They should have been inundating me with every known language since I was born, instead of focusing on that pesky 'learning-to-walk' thing. What prompted this stunning realization, you ask? The Chinese literature waiting patiently in the stacks. There I was innocently trying to find a book about Columbian expeditions, while wondering who actually intentionally found it to lose it in the first place, when I run across these books, hundreds of books, that I cannot read.

Telling me I can't read something? Apparently major pet peeve.

I love books, a fact that I'm sure you with your genius level skills of intuition have picked up on by now, and there should not be any book on this planet that I cannot read. It violates the laws of physics. Or something. Which led me to thinking about all those people in the world who have never had the opportunity to learn how to read in one language, let alone every language. Which led me to wondering how it must feel to pick up a book, any book in the world, and not be able to read a single world. Which led to incredible feelings of frustration, a decision to teach the entire world to read, and the recollection that I am a terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad teacher. All of which basically meant that I spent quite a bit of time on Monday morning standing on the first basement level of the library, staring at a piece of Chinese literature (I assume), and growing increasingly maudlin.

(In case you actually kept up with the plot, I did eventually go back to working, although I did not manage to find that blasted book. Though I did find two others that had gone missing. So does that count as a success?)

In conclusion, (yep, there are occasional conclusions, but don't get too used to it) I learned yesterday that the Historical K has been accepted into Teach for America, where she will go to Houston's inner city to teach kids how to read, so I now know where I'm going to donate my money once I'm rich and famous. Or maybe at any point where I have money that doesn't go directly to keeping me alive. If I can't teach, I can at least help those who can, right?

And I enrolled in a beginning Chinese course for the spring semester. One language at a time, I will take over the world! Muah, hahaha. And then I will institute mandatory literacy for everyone. And tea. Tea for everyone. Whoo, I've already gone mad with power!