I can’t go into what’s taken me so long to get back to the hedgehog, my dears. Nay. Suffice it to say, I have phantom-kicked Ralph Nader, Howard Schultz, and David Stern in their respective baby-makers with the amount of force in keeping with douchebaggery of the acts they have committed.
Now.
We’re moving. Again. To Austin. In TWO WEEKS.
Holy-mother-of-mosesmurphy-and-a-shitstick!
(Calmly. Carry on.)
So what this means is: I will once again be hellbent-for-leather PACKING ASS as swiftly as may be. And this time, I must follow the three Rs: reduce, reduce, reduce-for-the-love-of-GAWD-you-unholy-HOARDER.
No. No, I did not just call myself a whore. Please watch my lips: Hor-DUR. Sigh. I have had to come to the rather disheartening conclusion that I am, indeed, a hoarder. And while I am perhaps not a hoarder in the classic school of “stacks of newspapers to the ceiling in every room and cat poo in the spaghetti-strainer,” I have my area of weakness, which is…
My books.
Oh -
(wailing, thrashing, gnashing)
- my lovely books! Gack!
Um, seriously. I do think I have a problem. I mean, is it normal to get short of breath when I think about getting rid of my books, even ones that I know I will never read again? I don’t think so. I really don’t. And I am tired of having so much shit to cart around in my life, especially now it’s obvious that my idea of being settled by this time of life was but a fool’s paradise.
So here’s what I’m a gonna do. I’m a gonna go through my books, and cut their number by half. Thunder and lightning (and very, very frightening)! Yes. And as I progress through this soul-wrenching, completely asscrackey task, I am going to come weeping through this bloggy door in the dark of the bloggy night, and tell you tales of these precious, booky friends from whom I am now rent asunder (or will be by next Tuesday).
So all I’m saying is…you might want to have nice glass of wine, or a cocktail or two - or ten - to get, you know - properly prepped for this.
I’m gonna.
Filed under: Backstage Pass, Bring Grammy A Bourbon, Things About Me | Tagged: ass, bourbon, herniated left cheek, packing, scotch
I was where you are just two short years ago. The end of our driveway was downright embarrassing each garbage day with all the shit being thrown out. I did almost all of the packing except for our numerous books, which B did one weekend he was home. As I had arranged them, the shelves in our study were nicely organized in sections: European history, American history, biographies, philosophy & classics, various art categories, fiction (modern & classic), etc.
And what did he do? Jumbled them all together in boxes labeled ‘Books.’
Ass.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, I gave a lot of my cookbooks away, a mess of children’s books the boys had long outgrown to the local school library, and others to the ongoing sale at our local library. It was indeed a difficult task.
In the basement I even had some old college texts (and mind you, I graduated from college before you were born). And I KEPT THEM. You know, because I fully intend on brushing up on my French one of these days.
Anyway, I look forward to your stories!
Fuck.
I just wrote a comment almost as long as your post and it didn’t take. I’ll try again later.
That’s happened to me before, and it just sucks, don’t it? Made me want to throw a turkey at a wall.
I am very sad at the untimely passing of your great words.
Hey Peg! I think I salvaged your previous comment - it was in my spam thingy for some godforsaken reason.
Huzzah!!