July 20th, 2014

reading on a bench

Cleaning, dying of nostalgia

New residents of my bookshelf

In my room are two very large bookcases. They were filled to overflow with books. As we are moving 'at some point soon' (which could be anywhere from a year to a decade knowing us) I realized I didn't want to pack and unpack all those books, so I'm dealing with 'em.

Most will be going to a friend who asked for them, others donated, some kept, the Piers Anthony ones ritually burnt.

I haven't actually touched the books on these shelves in 2002. I read over a hundred books a year. Yet somehow I just... ignored the ones I'd put in my room when I was sixteen and let them moulder. Many of them are unread. Or bought digitally and read there. Or read when I was a teenager and never again.

That means there's things on the bookshelf that have been there since I was a teenager too.

Not like, monsters. But old photos of pets that are no longer with us, or are very old now, or a Christmas card from someone I thought I was in love with. It was a very kind card. He was very kind. I threw it away, because it gave me weird feelings because those of you who are still with me know that who I was as a teenager is very different from who I am now and I can't go back and I really don't want to. I didn't even really burn bridges, I just let them collapse from disuse and don't feel like I have the right to rebuild them.

Also, for some reason I owned 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' (????)