Hyperactive

You know how I am always talking about how librarians tend to have secret lives that you would never guess were there? It's totally true. I am not trying to perpetuate a stereotype- you know the one, where the stodgy librarian whips off her glasses and takes down her hair and all the buttons pop off her shirt and then it is ON. That is merely one incarnation of the secret lives of librarians. The diversity of librarian secret lives is really boundless. I have seen it proven over and over again. I have, on occasion, revealed some of the secret lives that I carry around in my own life portfolio. And today, I'm revealing one more. Ready?

There was a brief period, back when I was first in college, when I was HYPER. I mean, bouncing off the walls, extrovert-to-the-max LOUD and PROUD, kind of insane, hyper. Energy for DAYS. There was loud verbiage spilling from my mouth at all times. You remember Gilda Radner on SNL as the little girl named Judy Arlene Miller? Yeah, that was me when I first showed up at college. If you know me now, this seems ludicrous, and you're probably having a hard time picturing me acting this way. Because now, I am the person who is known for thinking before she speaks, a person who would never, ever jump up and down for no reason at all. Or even if there was a reason. Jumping up and down is no longer on my list of ways to express my glee. I don't really know if I am even one who feels something called glee any more. I am now known, first and foremost, as the Responsible One. The one who has all their Shit Together. Steady. Reliable. But when I first arrived at my dorm my freshman year of college, the words "woo-HOOOOO!" was a word I would use in just about any situation. I would routinely walk up to people I didn't know and say "Hi! What's your name?" no matter who you were or what you were in the middle of doing, and by the end of the conversation, I might actually be hugging you. Oh yes. I was that girl. By the end of my first week, I was the person who knew everyone on my floor, and my dorm room door was always open and my room was always filled with people. All. The. Time. And I was always up for fun! That was me! Fun! Fun! Fun!

Talk! Talk!

Jump! Jump!

Giggle! Giggle!

What? Did you say something? I was busy talking! And jumping! And giggling!

Oy. It makes me exhausted just thinking about it. I have a souvenir of this time in my life, and it makes me laugh every time I look at it. It's a handmade flier, announcing "Quiet Hours" in the dorm for exam week. These were the hours that you were supposed to shut the hell up so that people could study or sleep. So, the sign says something like "Quiet Hours 11pm-5am." And, in the white space of that flier, someone had graffitied in the words: "Librarian Girl, THIS MEANS YOU." That says it all, doesn't it? We have a sign telling people to shut up, and I am literally the Poster Child of those who need to shut up the most.

The reason I am bringing up this time in my life is because my roommate from the good old (extremely hyper) days is coming to visit me this weekend. My roomie was not, and is not, hyper. She bore witness to all of my lunacy and kept her head about her the entire time. She lived with me for a whole year and never once told me, god bless her, to CALM THE FUCK DOWN. On the contrary, I think she found my antics entertaining. At least I think so. We're still friends so that must say something.

It's kind of a funny thing to hang out with her now, knowing that she knew me best at a time when I was so different than I ever was before or since. It really was a sort of flash in the pan, Haley's Comet sort of time for me. I got every ounce of extroverted energy out of me all in one go. And then, almost overnight, it burned itself out, and I went back to being laid back, still social, but overall pretty introspective. I can't explain this. Maybe it was hormones. Who knows. I'm mostly amused at my 18-year-old self when I look back at it, but there is a small part of me that's a little embarrassed too. I left that college just as this phase was burning out, and the thought that there is a whole group of people out there who only knew me during this era makes me feel kinda funny. And there's a part of me that wonders, after all this time, if my roomie friend really sees me for who I am now, or if that Lunatic Me is lurking about in her mind when she looks at me. You know how, when you see someone do something truly embarrassing, there's a part of you that associates them with that act forever? Like, when this girl named Melody barfed on my desk in 7th grade math, I could never look at her again without thinking about that. You know what I mean?

Maybe, in honor of my ex-roomie's visit, I should resurrect High Energy Me. I could greet her at the airport by running toward her full speed and shrieking at the top of my lungs, ending up in a hugging/jumping display of affection. Or I could giggle and introduce myself to every cute boy I see (another trait of that era) and invite strangers into our conversation as much as possible (I did that too).

I don't think so. I think I'll just enjoy the fact that I have this friend, who has seen me with my metaphoric pants down, and who still loves me in spite of this. She didn't just tolerate me, she loved me. I'm sure of that. That's so cool, it fills me with glee.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl