Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Beds and boxes and books. Oh my!

For the past month of living in this new house, I've been sleeping in a room surrounded by boxes and boxes of books. I honestly don't know how I've been able to sleep at all. Last night, all my Craigslist browsing finally paid off. I found a second bookshelf. And it's a big one. 

The kind folks I bought it from even offered to haul it to my house for me, once it became apparent that my Camry was no match for the job. She even recruited her teenage children to do all the heavy lifting. Or all the heavy lifting up to the point of getting it to my carport for cleaning. 

I scrubbed it good. It could probably use a fresh coat of paint, but I've been told the neighborhood alley cat has a propensity for spraying anything left outside. And yes, I mean anything. The warnings have been so strong, I'd worry about taking a nap in the yard for fear of what this cat might do. 

With that in mind, I didn't want to leave it outside unattended for any length of time. Not even to let paint dry. Somehow, I managed to pivot and slide and heave the sucker up my back porch and across the house into the bedroom, all by myself.  

Then I spent the rest of the night unpacking 7 or 8 or 9 boxes of books. Nothing but books. Oh my. I have more books than I thought I did. I don't know where they all lived before, because they certainly couldn't have all fit on the only other bookshelf that I own. 

There are still plenty of boxes to be unpacked, but the books have finally been put to bed. 

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