What exactly do you do, Connie?

The technical term is Retrospective Conversion, but what it is, is taking library card catalogs and converting them to computer-based catalogs. The tricky bit comes from figuring out what on the card fits into the standard database format. Modern cards that come from publishers are all done in intricately detailed, correct format, with all the punctuation and abbreviations in place. With smaller and older libraries, however, you run into standards that have changed over the years, cataloging that was done to a "Miss Grundy said to do it this way because she doesn't hold with those new formats" standard, or people who were doing the best they could who had never studied the formats.

It's a situation of "Oh, we'll fix that eventually, it works well enough." When it gets to me, though, "eventually" is "now." People come in here to work and think that it's straight data entry, but it isn't. You have to be able to look at an old, frequently handwritten card, figure out where all the essential parts are, figure out how to work around what's missing, then try to deduce what cataloging standards they were using, a process that would be made easier if we had access to a reliable spirit guide to contact the ghost of Mrs. Whozit, Goddess-Librarian of Small Town Public Library and Historical Society for forty years.

Oh, gosh, I'm gushing again. But I get to work with incredibly respected research libraries, internationally famous universities, and obscure little town libraries and their massively detailed local history collections. It's often frustrating--I remember trying to figure out how to catalog the collection of local orchard orange labels that had been carefully gathered by the historical society of the town--but I'm only ever bored when doing public school libraries. There are only so many copies of "Tom Sawyer" you can look at without falling asleep.

It sounds like a wonderful job, connie.

Except for the three-year, "talking to people on the phone" hiatus, it's the only job I've done since 1992.

Baby won't stop crying.

Mother going slowly insane.

Maybe not so slowly.

Connie, that does sound fascinating. It's like historical detective work! Very cool.

I'm having fun playing with my new hair. I can wash, style, and blow-dry in less than 20 minutes! The washing alone used to take about 10, and blow-drying at least 15 or 20.

cereal:

Susan, can you try some Tylenol or ibuprofen? Even if she doesn't have a fever, it could be teeth or ears, both of which make for pain and major crankiness.

Or try something completely different, like giving her a bath. Anything that she enjoys that will get her attention for a bit.

This is getting me back into the can't-win, terrible mother, terrible writer, terrible freelancer loop I had such trouble with a few months ago. Because I was sluggish out of the gate this morning, so all I've really done is return one phone call, get dinner into the crockpot, and load the dishwasher.

I wanted to have done at least an hour, preferably two, of billable work on my new grant writing project before lunch, but due to being sluggish I wasn't ready to start until after 11:00. And due to Princess Won't! Stop! Screaming!, I haven't been able to start.

So I'm a terrible mother because my baby is crying and I'm afraid I don't hold her enough, nor give her enough time when she's truly free to roam--no playpen, no exersaucer. And yet I'm also a terrible writer/freelancer because I've barely done a damn thing all week, and I can't figure out how to make this stuff balance. And I've GOT to squeeze 2-3 billable hours into this day somehow. And some real writing. And work some more on getting this place in good enough order that the gated-off living room isn't the only safe place for Annabel to roam, because we have no computer in there and I therefore can't do much work then.

What we really need is a laptop with wireless net access, but that involves money...

Now she's quiet, but she's just sitting there in the playpen looking exhausted and depressed.

Susan,

YOU ARE NOT A BAD MOTHER.

Sometimes babies scream and you can't figure out why. It sucks. It makes you wish you'd never said you could handle this. And it doesn't last forever.

It would happen to Mother Theresa, if she raised babies. Until they invent status readouts for babies, it will continue to happen.

OK. She's asleep. I'm taking deep breaths, feeling blood pressure go down, hoping it'll last longer than five minutes.

This is how she is when she's sleepy now--she'll fight it for 30 minutes, an hour, with much screaming. I hope this doesn't last long, because it's driving me stark raving mad.