I hate books.
I have just spent the most precious moments of my day – nap time – unpacking, dusting, sorting and shelving books. Books that have not been touched since they were last unpacked, dusted, sorted and shelved. Do you know how many times we’ve moved in the past 11 years? Book times.
Guarantee these books will not be touched until we move again.
Do you know what that makes books? SQUARE FOOTAGE EATING DUST COLLECTING RELICS.
I *$^%& hate books.
You know what I else I hate? This bookshelf, for its only giant boxy purpose is to shelve books:
Even if the proverbial “we” agreed to get rid of the books, I couldn’t sell this beast nor could I donate it because who could move it? I hate this bookshelf. It only fits in our guest room which will soon become either Arlo’s new room or a nursery. Which means one of my children of the new century will be forced to room with it and them. Criminal.
Hey – do you know where mold and mildew were invented? Bermuda. Do you know what mold and mildew love to eat? BOOKS. I’ve washed books, individually, using a spray bottle and paper towel. And I never once turned the bottle around and sprayed it directly into my eyes so I could end the Most Ridiculous Household Chore Ever.
Kris bought me a Kindle a couple of years ago because he loves me, loves gadgets and knows I enjoy both the act of reading and supporting artists. I support Kris by continuing to unpack, dust, sort and shelve his collection rather than “lose them in the move”. In fact just this May I bought for him this book, an out-of-print history of our Techbuilt home. A book. I bought him a book. Now that is love. I just hope Kris realizes that when we leave this house, that book stays. THE BOOK STAYS OR I DO.