I’ve come to the point in my preparation for departure that I must make the tough decisions. I’ve got to decide what I want to keep, what I don’t care about, and what I definitely want to throw away. As the product of an intensely materialist society, I have a lot of stuff, the vast majority of which has no value to me whatsoever.
Right now, however, I’m sorting through my books. I have more books than anyone I know. They fill an entire side of my closet, in shelves from floor to ceiling. They represent about fifteen years of reading experience, as I have never (as far as I can remember, at least) gotten rid of books. Now I know why.
Getting rid of books is hard. My books and I, we’re tight. I constantly thumb through books I’ve read, finding a favorite scene or passage and rereading to the point that I’ve read many books dozens of times. They can be viewed as a meandering view of my interests over the past five or six years. Books on politics and economics (and, my favorite, the combination of both), modern literature interspersed with classic literature (I’m sure that Shakespeare and Irvine Welsh would be friends, were they contemporaries, right?), Chinese reference books, and various textbooks that for one reason or another the bookstore wouldn’t take back. I don’t think I could just sell the things.
Perhaps I’ll give them to Friends of the Library, so that they can go to other loving owners. I need to do something, that’s for sure.
I sometimes wish I was more into reading. Then I start thinking straight and get scared off all the words strung together. Books just don’t hold my interest long enough. Hell, I couldn’t even finish reading Snoop Dogg’s bio a few years ago. I’d rather watch reruns of The Cosby Show all day long. Now Bill Cosby is THAT man!
Left by Aristotle on June 15th, 2003
In our most recent move, I had to not only box up half of my book collection (the other half being in boxes in my parent’s attic), but I used the book-stamp that my mom bought me for christmas just like I’ve always wanted to stamp my name in the cover page of every book I owned. It was a much longer process than it should have been (took me two or three evenings after work) because I continually was reading and rereading bits and pieces throughout the process. I can understand the pain.
Left by Jordan on June 15th, 2003