It wasn’t always like this; I wasn’t always like this. But people change.
My first semester at Davidson, I went to the library twice. The first time was just to see what it was all about, and that visit lasted about 5 minutes. The second time was even briefer; I went to print something in between back to back classes. TBH, the building intimidated me. There was no way I was hardcore enough to belong.
That has all changed this semester. I’m a new woman. The type of woman who spends hours in the library, by choice.
The love between the library and I is one forged out of necessity and practicality. It’s cliche, but the library has everything I could ever want, and more. The first floor is quiet enough to focus but still offers enough stimulation to keep you awake. It has big tables that you can claim for yourself and on which you can spread out all of your earthly possessions, vending machines to curb the mid-essay munchies, and water fountains boasting water that’s probably colder than anywhere else on campus.
There’s also the appeal of how the library makes me feel. I love that sense of accomplishment of saying “I just spent the whole day in the library.” There’s nothing better than when your parents call, and you explain that you didn’t pick up because you were in club libs gettin’ down with some calculus homework (or something along those lines, depending on the chill-ness of your parents).
As someone who can’t study in my room because my desk is overrun with makeup, and who can’t study with groups of friends because of my failure of an attention span, the library offers a sanctuary. I am truly, madly, deeply, in love.
Disclaimer: At the time of this article, I had still not ventured into the basement of the library. There are dark corners in every love story, and sometimes it’s good to leave some things to the imagination (but really I’m just scared).
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