Library-ing on New Year’s Eve

I have to admit something that is perhaps a rather shameful thing for a self-professed bibliophile to admit: I don’t like libraries. Or, perhaps I should phrase that as I dislike going to the library. It’s been a lifelong process — getting me to go to libraries (and stay in them longer than five minutes). Though certainly not to the same extent as, say, frat parties, libraries involve wrangling with a bunch of social norms. And I’ve never been one for social wrangling.

Perhaps the one thing I like most about Ohio State is that I’ve rarely had to physically stay in a library while here. I’ve been able to search for and reserve books online. I simply dart into the science and engineering library, grab the book I’ve digitally reserved, and dart out. Very little interpersonal interaction involved.

Libraries, at least at the educational institutions I’ve attended, have always involved lots of people and lots of distractions. And though reading rooms tend to be quieter than cafes or street corners, the silences are overwhelmed with noise — pages turning, clocks ticking, coughs languishing, air circulating — and the visual stillness is overwhelmed with eyes and other unreadable body parts.

Nonverbals abound in libraries. Nonverbals and I don’t always get along.

Upon learning that 1) the library was open today and 2) hardly anyone was there, I ventured out. I managed to stay for nearly three hours, probably a record of some sort for me. I went there to work on my dissertation prospectus, which is ending up a multimedia project. Instead of sifting through book-like things, I had aimed to record photos, video, and ambient noises. Eventually, I located a suitably lonely table, turned around, and found myself parked in front of several rows of the Journal of Mental Deficiency Research. (Which was right near Autism, the journal.)

I defaced some scholarly journals with post-it notes.

Journal of Mental Deficiency Research [with a post-it that says "pathology (to the max)]
Journal of Mental Deficiency Research [with a post-it that says “pathology (to the max)]

Pink notecard stuck into the stacks reads ENTRY INTO THE DOMAIN OF SYMBOLS
In one of the ‘enlightening’ (gag) Autism articles, an author mused about an autistic child’s ‘entry into the domain of symbols’ (aka non-echolalic speech). I went notecard-happy on several cognitive studies/psychology periodicals. DX that, symbol arbiters.
A bandaid sits against a book titled AUTISM.
This collection was in dire need of some pathologically ineffectual charity. And I had no shortage of bandaids.
A notecard bearing the words TRUE LANGUAGE sits in a recycling bin
Recycling that tired idea of there being one “true language.” Because goodness knows that what autistic kids/adults have isn’t language, isn’t even symbolic.
The words TRY HARDER painted on a stair
Try harder: Advice for researchers everywhere, myself included.