in which I begin to wonder if I own too many books
I have two gigantic bookcases from IKEA in my living room, which until recently held all of my fiction and nonfiction books. My comic books (Peanuts, Calvin & Hobbes) and old textbooks (French and Ancient Greek), as well as my small collection of "Very Short Introduction" books (Literary Theory, Barthes, Foucault, Existentialism, Post-Modernism, Dada and Surrealism, Judaism, Kierkegaard, Nietszche, Hegel, and Heidegger) all sit comfortably on a built-in bookshelf with my board games and barely-functioning typewriter.
When I returned from Austin, I began to unpack all of my new books (except for the 10 that I had to leave with R for lack of room in my bags). But I was struck by the lack of space for these books. I have begun to lay books on top of the rows of books, which is something that I have always felt looks sloppy. I cringe. As someone who likes to have a neat apartment, and indeed almost requires one in order to concentrate on work, I am worried that I might not have anywhere to put future books. And--where in the world would I put an additional bookcase?
Oh, the woes of a bookworm. Until I win the lottery I won't have the money to purchase a house big enough to have my dream library with the swinging ladder (see Beauty and the Beast). What to do in the meantime?
shirt: thrifted JCrew, very old
tights: Sock Dreams
boots: gifted Clark's
This outfit was for my first day back in Iowa, which was also my last day of 'vacation.' I bought a plethora of groceries, unpacked, and watched the BBC Pride and Prejudice while eating a copious amount of fresh popcorn. Of course, I was only able to do all of these things after I tried to start my car and found that the battery was DEAD. At which point AAA had to come out and test it, and jump it, and then ultimately replace it. Thanks, Iowa, for the warm welcome back.