#506: TOO MANY BOOKS, IF THAT IS POSSIBLE
We have a few books. Actually, it's more like we have a few boxes of books, and by a few, I mean more like many. We have a lot of books.
We have moved twice together since we got married, and both times it was the boxes of books that created the most guilt for me as I watched friends carry them from apartment to vehicle to apartment again. Boxes of books are unforgiving. They are leaden and inflexible. There is no place to sink your fingertips into for a better grip. They do not slide across the floor easily. They stub toes.
I know this all very well, because when we moved into this new apartment two weeks ago, our boxes of books took up half the living room, and in order to make room to put the furniture in place so that I could figure out where the bookshelves would go, I had to lift, carry, and stack each of those boxes a few more times.
I moved them all once and managed to squeeze a large chair through the cardboard alley. When I turned around to get the next chair from across the room, I realized that it was hemmed in by two tall stacks of book boxes. I moved those two stacks. I moved the chair. I moved three more stacks so that I could put the sofa against the wall. I moved another stack to make room for the television in the corner. Four stacks stood in between me and a decent spot for the coffee table. I felt like I was doing one of those bible verse sliding puzzles that they used to give us to keep us quiet in church, except that my living room, thankfully, was not going to slowly transform into a holy message from God.
My back hurts. I think my neck is practicing it's impression of the letter S. If it persists, I think it will soon be good enough to take its show on the road.Fiery One, the only one of us with any gumption to unpack in this ridiculous heat we've been experiencing, decides that the boxes of books must be emptied of their contents. It is as though the boxes of books exploded in our apartment, landing on any surface perpendicular enough to the ground to hold them. We have three big, comfy chairs, but we can't sit in them anymore, because our books are nesting.
WHAT WAS HE THINKING?! He was obviously not thinking. I can come up with a few titles of his that I'm sure we can do without. Who ever finishes Finnegans Wake, anyway?
The stack of books that he has so far chosen to cull is minute compared to the rest of the collection. Does anyone out there have a spare bookshelf?