I spent the day packing up all my books in preparation for moving out of my condo. Which I sold. I may not have mentioned that on the blog proper, just on Twitter. Yeah. I sold my condo. Hoofuckingray! And now I’ve got 33 boxes full of books that’ll be following me around the country to wherever I end up going to school. Unless I go to China. I am not taking 33 boxes of books to China.
I suppose it’s natural to think “man, I’ve got too much stuff” when you’re in the middle of packing it up and moving/storing it places. But that doesn’t change the sentiment. In general I feel sort of non-materialistic in my perspective on life or whatever, but that perspective is kind of easy to poke holes in when I have 33 boxes of books alone in my living room.
I kind of feel like I should pare it down, but when I told my mom about that yesterday she seemed shocked. “But your books? That’s you!” Now part of that concern is because she’s purchased a lot of expensive and wonderful books for me over the years and she doesn’t want to see that investment get wasted. But the important and meaningful books aren’t the ones I’d be getting rid of. I have two boxes full of old theology books from my late grandfather. Grandpa was a minister and I rescued a pile of his books so Grandma wouldn’t have to get rid of them. But seriously, my library will work just fine with five theology books instead of two boxes of them. Same thing with my university books. There are some that are great, that even if I’m not using them regularly I want them in my library. The first year intro books are not those ones. I have roleplaying games I’ll never play, paperbacks I’m half-ashamed to own and all these orphaned books from the middles of series I never read any of the other volumes to.
But. If I get rid of any of these things I’m going to miss them. I’m not going to miss the shitty Jysk chair I bought for the cat to sit on, or my glass-brick shelves. Books are the things I’ll miss. Even though I hate the idea of me being so tied to these objects I’ve got sitting in these boxes. I think I’d still be me if I couldn’t reach out and grab a Murakami book to read from. I think so, but I don’t quite know. I’d be different though. At least a little bit.apartment grandma grandpa haruki murakami identity mom simplify theology twitter