I made bookshelves! Windows be damned! I know whats important. Four of my window openings are covered with poly and the wood to build the windows with is sitting there, but the project most compelling to me is the creation of bookshelves. Building bookshelves has felt so vitally urgent that it supercedes heat. Hmmm. Irrational, I know.
They took most of a day, surprisingly, and I had barely enough wood to complete them, but delightfully, all 13 boxes of books that have been languishing around miserably fit on the two new bookshelves. I can’t really adequately convey my rapture at this. All my books! All safe and displayed on shelves! Neat and tidy and esthetically pleasing! I can just gaze at this end of my bedroom now and bask in the view. I don’t even have to read one, I can just be that excited that they’re all there.
Since I built these myself, I made them the perfect height to hold what I have without wasting space, and oh, the joy of shelving them! Giving them a right place to be: honour, prominence, safety. Like pets. It was so satisfying to place Eat, Pray, Love right next to Drink, Play, F@#k. Har har har. This time I shelved them according to size, with each shelf divided somewhere in the middle between books I have and haven’t read. Last time, I colour coordinated them by the colour of their spines, but this time, that was the tertiary consideration.
There are books that have changed my life, books that I’ve given away many copies of, books I’ve had since I was very little; books that have changed who I am between the first page and the last. Thinking about the accumulated time, blood, sweat, lives and wisdom represented there on those few shelves about makes me want to pass out.
And of course, books I haven’t read. 97 of ‘em.
Of course, all I have to do is spend a hundred bucks on amazon and all the books I have will no longer fit…
…but that’s a sweet problem to have.