Bookshelf

Chubs came over today because I called and asked him to and he helped me assemble my little bookshelf. Now I'm having the best time emptying boxes and deciding what goes on my new shelf (hey, I can see all my Shakespeare all together and now I can go ahead and read the Tempest (just cost the last novel and the present one is using it as a metaphor and shucks, I never read the play afore), pick a poetry book from the top shelf which is devoted entirely to poetry (OK, it's a very narrow bookshelf, but still, I got a whole shelf of poetry books isn't that cool?). I love seeing my Virginia Woolfs, my Jeanette Wintersons, my Natalie Goldbergs, all neatly arranged. To say nothing of the literary biographies or autobiographies (Edna St. Vincent Millay, Anne Sexton (but of course), Jane Austen, Arthur Miller, Robert Graves (and goodbye to all this too), some Joan Didions, some other books of essays (I love essays, depending on who wrote them).

And with all the arranging, my room is still in an advanced state of chaos.


Sigh. Now I need to find room for my Pico Iyers, and see whether I can fit the printer on my desk now that the bulk of the books have been removed.

All done now.

Tired.

Later for you.