I think most of you reading this know me either in person or online, so this may be redundant. . . .
I'm a librarian in northwestern rural Wyoming. I've been here for about four months now, and it's fascinating and wonderful, if sometimes very strange. I'm originally from Iowa City, Iowa and have lived in Poughkeepsie, NY (during college), the suburbs of Chicago (right before I came here), Indianapolis (during junior high; a time best forgotten), and a few months each in San Francisco and Minneapolis.
I love cities, but I also love living now in a town of 351 people, even on the days when it's strange.
Yesterday most people in town were either elated or downcast: hunting licenses arrived in the mail. The elated had elk tags; the downcast, nothing. On the 4th of July (a holiday I usually avoid–I used to have an anti-4th-of-July party in Iowa City) my boyfriend (who is a particular fan of the holiday, either) convinced me to spend the afternoon hanging out at the reservoir. Since that's the sort of thing I feel I never did enough of in my youth, I went, and I had a fairly good time sitting around and drinking beer and enjoying the stillness. Yet it was odd–many of the other people there had not graduated from high school, or had only barely graduated, but they work in the oilfields and pull in as much as $70,000–more than twice what I make with 1.75 masters' degrees. I would like to be better at integrating the worlds I live in.
I have some other online presence, most of which you can find via my website, The New Rambler. But there have always been things I wanted to write about, like the bit above, that don't seem to fit in any of my other spaces. Perhaps this will be the one where they do fit.