Friday, June 29, 2007

Tagged and tracked

Being as I have nothing else I'm going to do today besides change ice packs, I'll accept Dan the (sorta) famous Playwright's challenge. Besides, it's a meme. I am incapable of resisting and I can rip off his idea for response.

1. Name your area of expertise/interest

Bruises. I'm really interested in bruising at the moment. In fact, it's all I can think about -- how I get them, how I can treat them, what color they will be, how much sympathy ice cream I can cadge because of them.

2. How did you become interested in it?

I was encouraged by gravity and the proximity of a door.

3. How did you learn how to do it?

This is an art that must come from within. I have a natural talent that has been nurtured my whole life by coffee tables, throw rugs, assorted pets, stairs, and uneven spots in the lawn.

4. Who has been your biggest influence?

Isaac Newton's teachings have had a profound effect.

5. What would you teach people about it?

I don't know that this is something that lends itself to being taught. Of course, if someone else chooses to follow in my stumbling footsteps, I'll happily tell them about the best ice packs and bagged frozen peas to use.

I shan't tag anyone, but if you are bored today, go ahead, take a stab at it -- but go read Dan's for giggly inspiration first.

Encounters With Gravity

I'm here to tell you that Gravity Works.

Our bedroom is rather oddly shaped (like so many rooms in our house -- THANKS 90s era architects!) and Husband made some interesting choices that added to this. This resulted in the area on my side of the bed being a little cramped. My side is also where the bedroom doorway is, which is filled with a folding-style door for space considerations. We have a chair and footstool tucked into the corner there, and The Husband and I have our laptops plugged in on this side as well.

So, yesterday evening, I caught my foot in the tangle of wires and cords and went face first into the edge of the open door with mostly predictable results. I managed to NOT damage either computer, but my left knee and the entire right side of my face are both bruised and impressively swollen. I managed to get a nice cut UNDER my chin, and I likely have some whiplash. I even banged a boob.

I feel like I slept in a rolling cement mixer. Apparently, I don't fall as well as I used to.

The door was also removed from the doorframe during this little exercise in Newtonian physics. The Husband thinks that's one thing he can fix. For everything else, there is Aleve and ice and mashed potatoes. I also got ice cream out of the deal.

No, I am not posting pictures. You will have to imagine the goose egg on my forehead, my puffy jaw and lips, the slightly over-round shape of my cheek, and the assorted other bruises on various body parts. I might even get a black eye out of this. The Husband was close to tears when he first saw me, collapsed on the bed whimpering softly when he got home from yoga class. I've gone from sorta kinda pretty to really, really pathetic.

At least I got ice cream. I can probably milk this for a day or two. I mean, seriously, what's the point in banging the crap out of one's self if one cannot get on-demand sympathy ice cream?

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Mo' Kittehs

Bea and LaGuz went to the vet today. It was preplanned, but somehow, with kitty intuition, at 6 am this morning, LaGuz decided that she really needed to pee on The Husband. He was, of course, in bed. I was not, as it happened, because I'd retreated to the couch to escape the Husband's bed takeover plot.

Turns out she has the beginning of a bladder infection (possibly stress induced, as she is a high stress kitty and she does NOT like all the boxes and moving and disorientation in her house). She may also be hyperthyroid, but we need some more tests on that to be sure. Anyway, a shot, some pills and some magic "Lab Litter", and she should be fine. Bea has a long time yeast infection in her ears -- I suspect most of the cats have it. Again, some gooey salve three times a week, and they will be fine -- although Bea will hate me for at least an hour after treatment. Possibly two hours.

Bea was incredibly mellow at the vet once she was out of her carrier. She lounged, she explored, she napped, she charmed -- and then they put drops in her ears and she crawled under the table and hissed at me. LaGuz actually went back INTO her carrier and hid. That's just weird.

On the moving front, there are more boxes everywhere.
This is the stack of book boxes as of last week. There are two more rows and a new set growing 3 high under the window today.

Benny is helping.
Pooty is also helping.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

The Weekend that Was

Painting in bathroom is done. Hallway, done except for the doors (to be done after the floor is replaced). Book boxes packed -- 31. China packed, crystal packed, and I'm making my lists for everything else.

The Husband is returning from his retreat tonight, and I'll be glad of that. The MIL spent most of yesterday and part of today here, doing whatever she thought needed doing (she painted the hallway, and we would have started the laundry room if I hadn't persuaded her that there was nowhere to PUT the stuff that is in the laundry room while the painting takes place, and we wouldn't be able to move through the kitchen. ) Same with the bedroom painting -- has to wait until there's some place to put the stuff we have to move. The living room is stacked with boxes, and I'm starting on the dining room. There's a little path from the front door to the rest of the house.

There's really no problem with my mother in law, but I find myself always tense and attentive when I'm around her. Years of conditioning. I'm just never really relaxed. I know I do not have the latitude of being "her kid", as I did with my dad. So, even though she and I get along fine, there's a limit to how much un-Husband-filtered contact I can withstand before I start getting anxious. Maybe one day I'll get over that, but right now...nope. She left about 2 hours ago, and the tightness in my chest has just about gone away.

Everything is like one of those slide puzzles I played with as a kid. To get the upper right corner in place, I had to shift all the other pieces, then weasel it up. Then, I'd have to shift the newly placed piece a little to get the second one in line. Then everything has to move again, and then again, as everything goes into its spot. That's what my house feels like.

Friday, June 22, 2007

To Make Sport of Others

While munching my microwave panini and raw snow pea dinner, I decided to click The Magic Next Button. I happened upon one of the millions of ad sites that I usually blow past while Next Buttoning. But the top entry on this one (as well as the title) made me pause. Then it made me laugh, in an evil way.

be a live, be free: Life couching

Life Couching. I'm picturing one of those stadium couches with the built in refrigerator and commode. You'd think that would be one thing people could do without paying for assistance would be to live on the couch.. And I'm really curious about what shoping might be.

What makes me laugh harder is they managed to spell 'interpersonal' correctly and put the first three sentences together properly, but lost it all in the actual url reference line.

Today's Phrase

I am in hell and it's wallpapered in cardboard.

I also saw those "Earlift" things in a store. I didn't touch them.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Important Things I've Learned

1) I do not need to put every paperback book I own into a plastic bag. First, I don't have enough bags. Second, I have too many paperback books. Third, I'm too lazy.
2) I am resigned to the fact that, should one of these book boxes suffer the horror of damp, wetness or true drenching, I will simply have to unbreak my heart, save what I can, and move on.
3) There will be a Last Box Packed for the books, because I keep finding books that make me think "Oh, I want to read that now! I might read it this summer! I'll have time!" and piling them up. What gems of the literary arts can I not bear packing away? Things like "You Suck", by Chrisopher Moore.
4) Damn, I'd forgotten about some of these books. I really had.

Yet SOMETHING ELSE about which to worry

This never occurred to me, I swear. Wrinkles, pimples, undereye bags and dark circles, saggy chin, even spots on my face and neck (when I was 12, they were freckles. At 42, they are age spots and EVIL, requiring a cream.) Granny armflaps, thunderthighs, bedonkbedonk butt, hammer toe -- ok, all are afflictions that create a less than lovely aesthetic effect. I'm on it, I'm paying attention. Grey hair, leg hair, armpit hair -- ok, ok, I get it.

But...sagging EARLOBES?

Well, at least there is a solution, thanks to the miracle of Weird Stuff You See Advertised on TV.

As dog as my witness, I'll never go saggy again!

Yeah, I hate these words, too.

At last, vindication!

I've hated the word "blog" since someone decided it was cool. When I started doing this, pre-Blogger, they were "online journals" or "internet diaries" or anything else. Even "Weblog" sounds better. But "blog"? That's a word describing the dried toothpaste with a hair in it you scrub off the side of the bathroom sink.

Contrapuntal Fugue State

So many things. That's what I think to myself. So many things.

We picked up Wesa's ashes from the vet today. We did this with Calico last year. It must be something kind of new, because for all animals previous, the vet simply "did away" with the body without asking us any questions about it. There's now a little plastic bag with plastic handles on the table in the living room. It contains a small rectangular metal container, white with little black paw prints on it. The Husband has plans to put her ashes in the container with a rose bush we have.

I feel odd, knowing there are remains in my house, although why I should I don't know. I ran across very old pictures of Wesa last night. I didn't cry, but I did think about her. And for a second or two, I could have sworn I saw her running past the bed, just in the corner of my eye.

Three more boxes are filled, this time with kitchen stuff and glassware. I still have to move some things from shelves we have in the hallway, once I figure out where they can go. That's the problem now. Not everything can or should go into a box right now, but it's all got to go somewhere, because we are removing the "where" it is right now.

I'm showing signs of stress. It always surprises me when I realize this, because I just don't think of myself as a person who should feel stress. My life looks so easy and comfortable, and it really is in so many ways, but, damn, I must borrow stress from other people or something. And the signs are never very big. No, they are small signs, and you'd have to know me pretty well to see them. One for sure is that I'm getting sores in my mouth and cuts on my lower lip. Another is I have a hard time going to sleep, but once I am asleep, I sleep hard and have a very hard time waking up and getting going. I try all the things a person tries to relax -- stretching, doing something fun, having a glass of wine, meditating, chocolate.

This weekend, painting while The Husband is out of town. Time with the MIL, which may be dreadful and may be fine. I never know.

While packing stuff in the kitchen, I went through our current collection of plastic storage containers. I realized that thing most people who are sitting on the floor surrounded by Tupperware and Rubbermaid realize -- there is a universal law that says the orphan lid in your right hand never matches the orphan container in your left. Also, the container that seemed to perfectly answer your need when you were standing in the grocery store will become an annoying, clattering nuisance falling on you from an upper shelf when you get it home.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Thoughts I've Had

Swiped (with love) from ICHC

Sometimes it would be convenient to have someone else upon whom to blame things. However, I think it might be awkward with someone pressed to the underside of my paws all the time.

Not Suitable for All Viewers

Blame Sol for giving me an escape from any sort of thinking.

What's My Blog Rated? From Mingle2 - Online Dating

Mingle2 - Online Dating

Two deaths, one slut, and I'm not suitable for children. Hell, I didn't need a blog meme to tell me that!

But I'd have sworn it took more sluts than that.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Update 1

Clothes closet -- all "extra" (winter and special occasion) clothing removed and packed
Bathroom linen closet -- cleaned, reorganized, dejunked
Bathroom vanity -- cleared, scrubbed, reorganized
Ironing -- in progress
Meditation room -- books packed, one altar taken down

I'm already so tired and sore I don't think I'll sleep for aching. However, my bathroom is approaching scary levels of clean, and the bedroom should be getting there before Thursday is over. I have to get the bedroom ready to be painted, as well as the hallway and the laundry room.

I don't even feel really coherent. Why am I doing this again?

Monday, June 18, 2007


Our Real Estate Expert -- I'll call her Ree -- has come and gone. She gave us no surprises, but she did repeat something I'd rather thought would be the case -- we need to reduce our home down to "model home" levels of stuff. In other words, we need to drop ourselves down to the minimum of "things". This will allow potential buyers to see all the "space" in our house, and leave them room to imagine their own things in place.

This means keeping a pristine kitchen, spotless bathrooms, making the bed every morning, vacuuming more often than is really healthy, and cleaning litterboxes on a near daily basis. It also means a lot more sorting and deciding what will and won't remain. We have 2 weeks to accomplish the minimum, at which time Ree will return to take measurements and photos, and our listing will be online. We have a lot of boxes to buy and a lot of things to pack. I'm making mental lists from hardest to easiest things to do, what rooms to handle first, etc. I'm tired already, and we aren't nearly started.

The one set of thoughts I keep running into were all the various plans The Husband and I had discussed about this house. You know, those things you'd talked about doing "one day" or "when we have money". We aren't going to be doing them, now. They are done, gone, dreams no more. It's not really painful or upsetting to realize this, but it is a little disconcerting, like not recognizing where I am. The thoughts pop up at odd moments, usually in the form of "Oh, we aren't going to be putting those shelves up in the bedroom" and "Oh, we won't be replacing those bushes in the front yard." All my thoughts of the future have changed. Occasionally they try to slip into the old grooves, and I think that's what causes those weird seconds of dislocation. Not that future, THIS future.

There are several possible scenarios for this move. Best case would be the house sells by September and we are moving before Thanksgiving. Worst case would be the house sits on the market and The Husband has to go without me in January while I stay here. As you might guess, this particular scenario does not thrill me.

As for me, I have to go get more boxes.

New Broom

Today, the real estate agent comes to take a look at our house. Our house isn't really in a condition to be looked at. Oh, it's ok for friends (most of whom are no better house keepers than we are and bless them for that) and we certainly don't mind, but the idea that someone is coming in to evaluate and quantify...erg. My soul recoils.

I've been packing up more books. Bookshelves all have the "reduced, uncluttered" look. However, the boxes into which the books are packed have that "omigod, attack of the cheap boxes!" look. That, combined with some stuff just arrived from the MIL's house for sorting and albuming and such (She and I are planning a picture sorting weekend), and things are not looking so great.

We've been carefully going through and packing up anything that might be considered "objectionable" to some non-prescreened stranger wandering through our house with thoughts about buying. All of the books on occult studies -- packed. Big art books of nudes -- packed. All the fantasy art books -- packed. Books on sex -- packed. I have one big shelf that is all paperbacks. We decided to remove it to improve the room it's in, so paperbacks are (almost) packed. The library is stacked on all sides, and I have to get into my office next. My office is going to be the designated box holding area -- that is, as soon as I make some space in it.

Right now, though, I have to make the bed and clean floors. The kitties decided this would be a good day to not only scoop litter out of the bathroom litterbox, but pee on the tossed out litter. Yay.

Sooooo much stuff to do to this house; so many little things to repair, replace, or redo. Enough whining. I need to start sweeping.

Noon Update: One sure sign I am fit neither by physical nature or mental aptitude for housework is that I have sneezed so much and so hard today that I actually wet myself. And there's a FREAKING GIANT (dead) COCKROACH IN THE TUB and SOMEONE (not me) is going to get it out. I'm having too hard a time keeping my eyes in my skull to pick up cat-reject bugs.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Words of Warning

Why did no one tell me about Accordion Guy before this? Why are you guys holding out on me? If it wasn't for pure random chance, I'd still be in hellish ignorance and not laughing half as hard as I should. Have you read some of his brain droppings? This stuff is pure Wile E. Coyote grade GEEEENEEEOOOUUUUUUSSS! (genius, to those of you who can't read typo).

(stolen blatantly because it's just that good)

That one is for you, Scott. Go discover the rest of his revealed wisdom.

All the Reality I Need

I just checked the schedule today for Spike TV and it's all day "Disorderly Conduct:Video on Patrol".

I'm all set.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Stunning *gasp* Revelation

Ok, I'm not waiting for Bosszilla to "think". I'm gonna scan and haul my laptop in with the photos, and MAKE him label them.

Or not.

Either way, I'm scanning them and getting them out of my house. Yes, I'm doing this at home for three reasons.

1) I can watch TV while I'm doing this
2) I can do laundry in between times
3) Thanks to our ITiot at work, he who hasa rather sick obsessive need to control the computers (and equipment access) of people whose jobs he does not know, I do not have access to a scanner at work. I USED to have a scanner AND a printer all my own. Ah, the old days...

All this has led to a competely unexpected (*gasp*) and surprising (*again, gasp*) discovery.

The tedium of scanning and labeling one's own family photographs for digital storage is outweighed only by the unending tedmium of scanning and labeling someone else's photographs.

Bad snapshots of complete strangers are bad enough when you stumble across them accidentally while cruising blogs, but from THIS there is no escape.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Xavier, Where Are You When I Need You?

Bosszilla has set me a new goal for developing my extra sensory/telepathic abilities.

I mentioned that his mother passed away last month. This month, he brought to me all her photo albums so that I can scan the photos and burn them to a video CD so that he can look at them on a television (He's been watching those HP and Apple commercials again). None of this is hard.

However, he wants the photos labeled and grouped in a particular way. Ok, I told him, I'll bring the albums in and you can label the photos before I scan them.

Oh, no, he said. That won't work.

I didn't question why this wouldn't work.

Well, I offered, I can scan them and bring them in, and you can look at them and label them. Then I'll reburn the disc.

He thought about this for, oh, a second, before shaking his head. No, I don't think that will work either.

I am now at a loss.

Can't you scan them and label them? he asked. I want to get my mother together with all her sisters, and I don't know what albums they are in.

I don't say anything.

Oh, well, I'll think about it, he said. Then he left.

He's thinking about it. He doesn't want to do it, but he'll think about it. Apparantly I'm supposed to tune in to these thoughts, locate and assimilate the appropriate information, and translate it into labels and catagories for the photos. He doesn't want to spend the time and boring effort to label the photos himself, you see. That's why he pays me.

I should charge extra for mutating.

Monday, June 11, 2007

There Be Boxes

We've made the first fledgling motions toward The Great Departure. Our deadline -- January 1 2008. However, we have to start showing our home, most likely, this month. And we gots stuffs to be doin'.

First, the bedroom must be painted. This was the room I could not get The Husband -- whose assistance will be needed for more than just moving the heavy stuff -- to agree needed doing. I suppose his logic was that the majority of his time in this room was spent with his eyes closed, so why bother painting? Regardless, his options are now one -- paint the damn room. Color has been selected, I've removed shelving and pictures, and we will be moving to the air bed for a day or so once we pick a weekend to begin. Probably next weekend. Painting isn't hard. Moving furniture is.

And I'm still carefully wrapping and packing books. A few hours of watching some of those "sell your house" shows has revealed that bookshelves should not be empty, but neither should they actually hold all the books and dustcatchers one usually has. They must be "artistic" or some shit along those lines. I'm working on it.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Maureen McGovern Should be Singing About That Boat

Thanks, everyone, for your kind words and thoughts. My eyes are a little sore, but that's why we have eye drops. It's a new morning, we know we made the right decision, and life goes on.

Sometimes I wonder how that's possible. It always seems, each time I've faced the death of someone I love or the loss of something so essential to my life, that life should somehow stop and freeze right there. It never has. I have, a time or two, gotten stuck at that point, like one steel ball in a ball bearing that gets out of round and won't roll. But I round out, eventually, and roll along with everyone else. The choice to be stuck forever has its own set of miseries which are greater to me than those associated with just getting on with it.

Ben and Ophelia are snoozing on the bed next to me. We spent Friday evening with a dear friend (I'll call her Aunt Dutchie) and her giant dog and three of her cats -- Harry, Jerry and Bitchitina. We discussed all things of the world, including the deaths of pets, the weirdness of family, and there wheres and whyfors of gender identification. It was a comforting evening.

Oh, five points if you can name the song I'm referencing in the post title, redeemable for nothing much special but, still...

Thursday, June 07, 2007

So as to get Max Mileage out of this

Wesa is maintaining. She hardly eats or drinks, and spends her day moving from one hidie hole to another, occasionally coming out for some petting before slinking away. I'm not even pretending to hope at this point.

My real wish is that she would go on her own. I don't want to make the decision that involves a needle and a vet. I wish she would go on her own, quietly and in her sleep, peacefully and swiftly. Then I wouldn't feel quite as awful. I'd just miss her rather than feel I was killing her.

I'm feeling awfully sorry for myself, I'd like to point out. I'm making the other cats a little skittish with all the huggling and cuddling and petting. But only a little -- they are all sluts. I adore them.

I didn't sleep last night because the dark was full of thoughts and memories, about not having children or parents, about being forgotten, about not remembering anything about the family that went before. There's a book out there somewhere, I think it's called City of the Dead or something like that. I've read only the synopsis, and it's about an afterlife where people go when they die, but only as long as someone alive remembers them. Once they are forgotten on Earth, they vanish from the city -- a sort of second death. I'm never going to read that book. The very thought digs too deeply into my own fears.

On the other hand, I'm getting a lot of reading done. It's a great remedy for the swallowing dark.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Ding Dong and so forth

The If Bunny ceased to be an If today. There's no way to be inspecific about it and not let the whole thing out, which The Husband is loathe to do because there are still reasons to be -- not secretive, let's say "circumspect", let's say "discreet" -- about it. Although the biggest If has fallen and the "maybe" is a certainty, we still have several steps to go through. None of those are "ifs", they are "whens". But now I can start doing things. I'm going to be very, very busy.

On the other hand, Wesa went to the vet this morning, and the news so far is not promising. An unknown abdominal mass. Fluid in her lung cavity from an unknown cause. X-rays and blood tests and various pokings and proddings of her little body. Lots of things are supposed, but nothing is known as yet. We may not know anything until Friday.

Update: We brought Wesa home. I won't detail, but it is not good. We are going through the motions of waiting for test results, but it's already pretty much decided. We have a few days to pretend with medicine and expensive food.

There's a song that says broken hearts hold more.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Waiting Must End

Waiting must come to an end. I know it.

The Brodart jackets showed up today and I started wrapping dust jackets in preserving plastic. I had no IDEA that dust jackets were so TERRIFIED of the plastic. The Brodarts have a plastic half and a paper half, and the dust jacket goes in between, but, DAMN. I've never had paper and plastic fight so hard not to touch each other. You'd think I was forcing them into some unnatural act. But it's an important part of book preservation, so, damn it, they will be wrapped.

Wesa is not doing so well. We took her off the new medication because, as we half-expected, she became zombie kitty, spending all her time sleeping on the floor -- completely un-Wesa-like behavior. She's not eating much. The last few days she's started coming out of it -- she occasionally jumps on the bed, or comes to the door to see us when we get home. But she's not her usual attention-demanding self. She doesn't sleep with The Husband anymore, she doesn't hang out by the windows, she doesn't talk. It's bothersome and it came on very suddenly, so we are hoping without the meds she will turn around. Of course, she's 15, so it's very possible she's in her last weeks. It happens. She ate some canned food tonight and I'll keep trying to get her eating. If she doesn't improve by Friday, she will be back at the vet next week. I don't want to be a Nervous Nelly -- it's expensive, for one thing -- and unless there is something else she has mysteriously contracted, it's the meds and we we warned about that.

Ophelia, by the way, is doing fantastic, and is back to her old pissy self. Her fur is about half grown in from what she lost, and she's even more active than she used to be -- well, if seeking out new and unusual places to take naps can be called active, then she's all over it.

I'm tired of the waiting, though. Summer is almost here, but the glacier is not retreating.

Friday, June 01, 2007

A Little Swirly

Oh yeah, hurricane season started today. Wee. And we already have a little tropical storm doing tropical stormy things in the Gulf. We already had a little suntropical storm (Andrea, I think) earlier, but nothing came of it really.

We have to do a little prep work around here now that the tax holiday for hurricane supplies has started. New batteries, replace a flashlight or two, gas for the generator, more canned goods in the pantry -- that sort of thing. Oh, and maybe a few tarps, although we had our roof replaced after the last set of storms a few years ago..

May was unusually cool and very windy. We haven't had the A/C on in weeks, which is great for the power bill and sort of eh for the state of in-house moisture. It's cool and cloudy today, pretending it might rain but not actually raining. We could use the rain. Drought is an ongoing thing in Florida.

Everyone is predicting disaster, just like they did last year when they were wrong, and the year before that when they were right. Look, it's weather, and anything can happen. There's no reason to panic and no excuse to pretend nothing will happen. Buy some bottled water, buy some batteries, get a few sheets of plywood and clear a little space in the garage for the lawn furniture. If you live near sea level, look at a map and figure out the best way to evacuate, and get a couple of bags together so you can grab your stuff and go if you have to. Prepare. So nothing happens -- be thankful. If it does, you won't be as bad off. What's wrong with that? Get a radio and listen to the news. Check the Weather Channel in the morning. Like it's so hard.

Life ges a little swirly either way, ya know. I hope the Weather Channel has some new music.

Still Still Waiting

News from the powers that be concerning the giant IF bunny sitting in my life indicate that there should be a definitive answer quite soon. We are watching the mail. Superstitious or no, we've only revealed the details of this bunny to a few trusted people and, damn, if that ain't killin' me! There is this HUGE change on my horizon, but I'm not tellin' the world.

I've had complete strangers come admire my new phone and my new car. See what I mean?

In more boring news, I'm waiting for an order of Brodart book jacket wrappers to arrive. Remember how hardbound library books are always wrapped in these plastic covers? Well, it occurred to me, in that way things sometimes do, that I now own a LOT of hardbound books, and many of these are autographed and others are on the not-so-common side. And my friend the Book Pimp has taught me that there's a lot more value in a book tha thas a nice, preserved dust jacket to go with its nice, preserved pages and cover. Soooo...

I'm actually looking forward to doing it, in my weird anal compulsive about my books way. I must have made some sort of maturing step without realizing it. Now, the joy in displaying my book collection is not as much about the NUMBER of books I have, but about how they look on the shelf and how easily I can lay hands on a particular book. The sight of my hardbacks, all alphabetical and by type, lined up in their various shelves just brings me joy. I imagine other people get the same thrill when all their shoes are polished and lined up in the closet. I'm even going to get shelf labels at some point (I already have my eye on the ones I want.)

It's something to do while I wait.