Wednesday, March 4, 2015

All Booked Up

Living with my parents again is, occasionally, a hilarious thing. For example, several months ago, Mom wanted to rearrange their bedroom furniture so she could have easier access to the large window in the room. In the course of this turnaround, she got a little frustrated by stuff (you know--the objects you accumulate over the years). I happened to be present when she delivered a stern warning to Dad: "From this point on, you are only allowed to have one book in the bedroom at a time."

Well, this is more or less the most shocking thing you can say to a person in this house.

Given my current circumstances, two bookcases are in my bedroom, with the majority of my books packed away in cardboard boxes in the basement, which pains me greatly. In an ideal world, I would have a separate room to use as a library; alas. And because I have no night stand, books are just piled up next to the bed. As I write, there are no fewer than four volumes and two magazines that have been partly read.

Surrounding myself with books is one of the things that makes me feel better. Just being near them--their spines declaring titles proudly, their covers all colors imaginable--brings a sense of order to my life. I figure that as long as I don't veer into hoarder territory and make a book maze through which I must struggle in order to sleep, I'm in decent shape.

When I asked Mom about the one book edict before I wrote this post, she sighed and said that neither she nor Dad could stick to it. Apparently I'm not the only one in this house who enjoys the proximity.


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