A Non-Incident in the Library

Several minutes ago I was reading Maugham in the Library. Charles Strickland is a character in The Moon and Sixpence who is very sadistic. I won't bore you with the details. [Note to Nichols: Of Human Bondage was also by Maugham, I might have to read it after the semester is over.] Anyway, I had the sudden urge to leap from my seat and explode on my surroundings. I wanted to throw down the desks and the shelves. I wanted to blast out the window, to use the furniture like a hurricane uses a tribal village on the fringe of civilization.

I wanted to see how long I could last. How long until security, staff, police, concerned citizens tried to tame my fury. Who would approach the crazy man. Who would risk his own life to save a bound edition of Toxicology reports, a rack of magazines from 1972, a shelf of books about satellite imaging applications. How far could I go.

But, ultimately I decided not to. When does my reality [the current one, the college student] end? What is the breakdown, or, rather: does real life achieve the clean transition from one stage to another?

If I am in a prison do I want to know my crime?