I'm off to the library to get in my daily hour of writing time. I'm working on a large writing project and for some reason, I can't do it at home. I have to use the computers at the public library. I carry around my stick of gum memory card and try to remember to back up the files at home. It's stupid, but I'm on a hot streak, and like any baseball player, I know not to mess with a hot streak.

Last week, I stopped to think about how many phlegm-covered fingers had touched that keyboard on the library computer. That thought kept me away for a few days. After a few days of failed work at home, I returned. I'll just have to carry around one of those bottle of germ-be-gone stuff.

Over the years, I've spent a lot of time in public libraries. The old grad school building was right across the street from the main branch of the NYC public library, and I used the Inwood branch library often. I've had my wallet stolen in the NYC public library, sat next to a guy with Tourette's syndrome, and smelled the sweet odors of a homeless man.

Suburban libraries are also full of odd people.  Last week, some guy sat next to me with the music blasting through his ear buds. It was Christopher Cross's Sail Away. That was horrific enough, but then he began to sing along.

So, I'm off. It's a lazy blogging day. I have a post of links for later in the day. In the meantime, read this lovely article in the Chronicle by a father of a boy with cerebral palsy. (Thanks, Jeremy S.)