I'm moving on Thursday, and I still haven't posted about the house into which I'm moving. This is because I've just realized that I'm moving on Thursday. So far I have ten boxes packed, which contain all of my books that aren't either cookbooks or hiding in obscure corners of the house. Right now the people with the most pained expressions reading this are the ones who know me the best and have seen my house lately.
My philosophy for this move appears to be that if I can just get all of my books boxed up, all of the other requirements of survival will take care of themselves. Clothes? I'll just throw them in a bag or something. Important personal documents? There's probably someplace I can tuck them. Camping gear and my guitar and my sewing machine and my toolbox and my drawing supplies and the general detritus of my sixteen other periodic hobbies? Those might all fit in one box, right? CDs, now, those are probably pretty important.
I promised a reference to ointment, and it's coming. Occasionally I'll find that my reading material reflects my current situation without my conscious direction. It's true that I haven't had much to do with werewolves lately, so re-reading The Fifth Elephant probably isn't terribly topical. But I've been living somewhat precariously on dwindling finances for the last month while waiting for my financial aid refund, which is apparently too large and heavy to move quickly, to make its way into my bank account. Is it coincidence, therefore, that during this period I've found myself reading first Down and Out in Paris and London and then Angela's Ashes? Actually, I think it is. I was reminded of the former by reading a blog post about it, and reclaimed my copy of the latter from my sister's house over the weekend. They're both very snappy, cleverly written books, difficult to glance at without reading in full. And now as the balance of my checking account dips toward zero, I find myself grumbling under my breath about my seventeen-hour shifts washing dishes and cursing the River Shannon for giving everyone the consumption. It all seems entirely logical until someone reminds me that I work in a library and it's only a mildly gloomy Bay Area summer.
See, I said topical. Get it? Topical?Posted by dianna at August 21, 2006 10:58 PM