Books

J.C. used to work at a bookstore, and it used to really annoy her when customers would talk about how much they just love books. "You should see my house," they would say. "There are books just everywhere."

J.C. would think something like, Well, I suppose it makes sense that you would be shopping here, then.

Along those lines: We have way too many books in this house. I imagine that someone like Dan Wickett has it worse than I do, but it's still pretty bad. As I've been cleaning, I've been shuffling some books around, and I found several that I'd purchased in the last couple years and completely forgotten about. So, it was kind of nice finding them, but I have no idea when I'm going to get to them all.

Two photos of a couple of problem areas:

The Buffet:



The night stand (displayed on the bed):



I've aready read quite a few of these; the problem now is figuring out where they will be relocated.

J.C. and I were having monk fantasies the other day, imagining our life without so many possessions in general. And after cleaning for the past couple hours, those fantasies have intensified. I keep imagining myself in a room with white walls, surrounded by nothing. In my head, I'm dressed in a burlap robe.