Library of Congress

I'm dumping some of my journal for the class into here - it is less research related than an actual thoughts-and-feelings sort of diary entry, but I don't want to just eliminate it altogether:


I have now made two successful trips to the Library of Congress. The first trip was obviously more orientation and less research; hoards of information and directions and policies being stuffed into my brain until I thought it would come out of my ears. Needless to say, a bit overwhelming. But by 2 o’clock or so, when we finally sat down with a few books to start reading, I felt much more comfortable. The simple and pleasurable act of reading a book does that.

I think in my head I always think I’m completely incapable of independently traveling to new places, sort of the same way that when I’m sleepily sitting at my desk in the evening I can’t fathom how I ever gather the alertness necessary to drive a vehicle. But once you’re actually moving, you instinctively remember where you’re going, you recognize landmarks. The only wrong turns I took once in the Library were in the sub-basement or whatever it is - at first nothing looking familiar, but once you start seeing “Jefferson” signs (or “Madison” signs on the way back; I decided it was best to go out that way instead of walking more outside in the cold February wind) you get your bearings and follow these courteous bread crumbs. Considering my greatest hesitation revolved around actually going to and from the Library by myself, I think I managed very well and the next time I won’t feel so nervous to get on the Metro alone.

The second week tested my ability to go from campus to the Library and back on my own and I succeeded (miraculously). I didn’t get lost, didn’t need to ask for directions. The Library itself... I feel like I’m inside a large, intricately designed organism. Each part hums along, working like clockwork without bothering about my presence. Help is available, and though I may not need it most of the time it’s good to know it’s there. The other researchers there are absorbed in their work as I soon will be. Walking to the shelf that’s reserved for holding our books (it’s at three o’clock in the room, though I forget the “alcove number”) I feel like I’ve done this thousands of times, sure, I’m a regular, I belong. Sign in to make sure our books don’t disappear, carry them out to a desk in the no-laptop section. And I read for a couple of hours. Strangely it doesn’t feel like research (yet); I spent most of my time reading one book that followed the progress of several authors and their works from their first publication in the early Soviet regime to their later transformations. I found it unexpectedly fascinating.