#125

Just lied to the family dog; told him I'd go sit near him and came upstairs to write this instead.

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Alright. All the softcover fiction, all the poetry, my collection of Classical texts all are on shelves or stacked on top of one of three bookshelves, and the fourth shelf is full of hardcovers with a bunch of oversize reference, art books, and comics stacked on that. One of the shelves has my favorite softcover nonfiction in it, too. The rest of my hardbacks are in two tall stacks on one of the end tables and the rest of my softcover nonfiction is in one huge three-tier stack against a wall. Futon booksnake is still in place, as are the stacks on the other end table, but a couple more traditional bookcases and a some wall-mounted dealios and all my books should be on a shelf.

The organization is not what it once was, when I owned nine bookcases and about forty percent more of the total books I own now. The library used to be a testament to the inside of my brain and how I think of things, an arrangement whose power and breadth was such that it required its own room and I felt comfortable showing it off to anyone.

Now they all live in my room and I don't want anyone in here ever again for any reason. Doing this has helped me remember that a few of my favorite and most important books are in the hands of people I do not wish to speak to and the hands of people who have stopped speaking to me for no stated reason.

Too many books. Still too many. It is a huge mistake to live how I have lived. If you can make yourself stop reading, do it. I am a horrible monster and every book makes me worse.

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Also I cleaned and organized my desk, which more in the middle of the floor and turned more towards the western wall.

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Guess I'll go sit on the couch while the dog lays very still on his belly with his jaws clamped around a wadded-up blanket.


--JL