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My lounge room today
Aug. 2nd, 2006 03:08 pmBooks, books everywhere.
There are scatterings near my computer because people keep asking me book related questions and I keep forgetting to put the books away afterwards. The computer-books include Apicius, the archaeology of Winchester, a Middle English Arthurian text and a book on Tudor kitchens. And some reference books. (So *that's* where they got to. I was looking for my Lewis and Short the other day! How odd that they should be on the correct shelf. Quite bizarre.)
On my writing slope (where I pretend to work while watching TV) is a whole bunch of Medievalish things, mainly about women and literature and intersections between the two. (Do I count as a Medieval intersection between women and literature? If not, why not?)
There are the books in the open suitcase, which are en route. There are 3 unopened packages which have just been en route. There are the books for judging, in 2 piles. One is unread and one is read. Oddly, the read pile is bigger. The books in the unread pile are longer, though, if that helps balance things. There is a pile near the 'read' pile for judging which is the pile of books I have read and need to write reviews for. Today. No, I am not looking at that pile. Nor at one of the books in my handbag which belongs on that pile. Not. Not. Not. (I've read them all. It's just that writing reviews requires thought and my brain melted an hour ago.)
There are also some books in my shopping bag. Somehow I went to post parcels and ended up with books. I blame Lorraine. I have to blame someone. I need to put those books into the right piles. One day. Maybe. (Right now it requires too much thought and my brain still appears to be melted. I prodded it to see - not a good idea).
There are other rooms with books in them. It's just that this room suddenly struck me as inconveniently full of books that say "read me NOW or I will insidiously invade your dreams." Come to think of it, they insidiously invade my dreams no matter what I do. (Books do that sort of thing. Evil. That's what they are.)
That's it. I am on strike. Some of the books are going away. Now. Let's see. Oh! I can put fully three of them in shelves. Let's look round the living room again.
On every flat surface all I can see is books. Lots of piles of books. It's quite a nice sight actually. Except how do I decide which to read first?
There are scatterings near my computer because people keep asking me book related questions and I keep forgetting to put the books away afterwards. The computer-books include Apicius, the archaeology of Winchester, a Middle English Arthurian text and a book on Tudor kitchens. And some reference books. (So *that's* where they got to. I was looking for my Lewis and Short the other day! How odd that they should be on the correct shelf. Quite bizarre.)
On my writing slope (where I pretend to work while watching TV) is a whole bunch of Medievalish things, mainly about women and literature and intersections between the two. (Do I count as a Medieval intersection between women and literature? If not, why not?)
There are the books in the open suitcase, which are en route. There are 3 unopened packages which have just been en route. There are the books for judging, in 2 piles. One is unread and one is read. Oddly, the read pile is bigger. The books in the unread pile are longer, though, if that helps balance things. There is a pile near the 'read' pile for judging which is the pile of books I have read and need to write reviews for. Today. No, I am not looking at that pile. Nor at one of the books in my handbag which belongs on that pile. Not. Not. Not. (I've read them all. It's just that writing reviews requires thought and my brain melted an hour ago.)
There are also some books in my shopping bag. Somehow I went to post parcels and ended up with books. I blame Lorraine. I have to blame someone. I need to put those books into the right piles. One day. Maybe. (Right now it requires too much thought and my brain still appears to be melted. I prodded it to see - not a good idea).
There are other rooms with books in them. It's just that this room suddenly struck me as inconveniently full of books that say "read me NOW or I will insidiously invade your dreams." Come to think of it, they insidiously invade my dreams no matter what I do. (Books do that sort of thing. Evil. That's what they are.)
That's it. I am on strike. Some of the books are going away. Now. Let's see. Oh! I can put fully three of them in shelves. Let's look round the living room again.
On every flat surface all I can see is books. Lots of piles of books. It's quite a nice sight actually. Except how do I decide which to read first?