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Mar. 15th, 2010 06:54 pmMy lounge room has an unnatural life cycle.
It gets tidied. Books self-propagate mysteriously or migrate even more mysteriously from the safety of the shelves. The books scatter until all flat surfaces are occupied. Someone trips over a book or moves a book away from its flat surface of choice. The consequent sense of lurking evil alerts me to what the books are doing. I start piling them. I finish piling them. I start diminishing the piles by writing about the books or reading them (sometimes both!) or using them in teaching. They make a new pile which is called 'To go away.' Eventually I try to put the books away and the room is tidy again.
My current piles include 'These books are finished and need to return to their true owner,' 'These books are read, but not yet reviewed,' 'These books are to be reviewed' (2 piles - one for easy and and the other for more problematic volumes), 'These books are greedy and demand whole articles,' 'These books are companionable and willing to be in the same article, but they need to be read,' 'Teaching books - to put away,' 'Teaching books - for this week's classes,' 'I have no idea what these books are doing here,' 'I don't want to read these books, really,' 'I want to read these books now and damn the books that insist on creeping ahead in the queue,' 'Books that need sorting.' And that's it right now. Sometimes there are fewer piles. Sometimes the piles are more exotic. There once was a pile specifically dedicated to demonology, but I haven't done that since my Medieval manual of demonology mysteriously disappeared.
As well as thinking about books, I've been thinking about vision. I've found out two brand new things about my eyesight.
Firstly, I can no longer tell if my glasses are dirty. I can, however, read much better when I clean them.
Secondly, if I try to focus on anything that's not balanced (such as Jorg Shmeisser's etchings - friends and I went to the Beaver Gallery yesterday), my right eye can't fill in the details inventively and gets upset and everything looks as if I'm seeing it through one of those warped mirrors at a fun fair. Combine modern art with dirty glasses and ceramic tiled floors and life becomes quite extraordinary.
I was trying to explain this to someone yesterday and she thought this was a bad thing. Really, it's not. I can make tiled floors ripple like a rollercoaster and dance the boogie. I'm no longer limited to three dimensions. All I have to do is learn to walk in a straight line until my eyes readjust (which they do): it's hard to walk a straight line when straight lines don't exist.
It gets tidied. Books self-propagate mysteriously or migrate even more mysteriously from the safety of the shelves. The books scatter until all flat surfaces are occupied. Someone trips over a book or moves a book away from its flat surface of choice. The consequent sense of lurking evil alerts me to what the books are doing. I start piling them. I finish piling them. I start diminishing the piles by writing about the books or reading them (sometimes both!) or using them in teaching. They make a new pile which is called 'To go away.' Eventually I try to put the books away and the room is tidy again.
My current piles include 'These books are finished and need to return to their true owner,' 'These books are read, but not yet reviewed,' 'These books are to be reviewed' (2 piles - one for easy and and the other for more problematic volumes), 'These books are greedy and demand whole articles,' 'These books are companionable and willing to be in the same article, but they need to be read,' 'Teaching books - to put away,' 'Teaching books - for this week's classes,' 'I have no idea what these books are doing here,' 'I don't want to read these books, really,' 'I want to read these books now and damn the books that insist on creeping ahead in the queue,' 'Books that need sorting.' And that's it right now. Sometimes there are fewer piles. Sometimes the piles are more exotic. There once was a pile specifically dedicated to demonology, but I haven't done that since my Medieval manual of demonology mysteriously disappeared.
As well as thinking about books, I've been thinking about vision. I've found out two brand new things about my eyesight.
Firstly, I can no longer tell if my glasses are dirty. I can, however, read much better when I clean them.
Secondly, if I try to focus on anything that's not balanced (such as Jorg Shmeisser's etchings - friends and I went to the Beaver Gallery yesterday), my right eye can't fill in the details inventively and gets upset and everything looks as if I'm seeing it through one of those warped mirrors at a fun fair. Combine modern art with dirty glasses and ceramic tiled floors and life becomes quite extraordinary.
I was trying to explain this to someone yesterday and she thought this was a bad thing. Really, it's not. I can make tiled floors ripple like a rollercoaster and dance the boogie. I'm no longer limited to three dimensions. All I have to do is learn to walk in a straight line until my eyes readjust (which they do): it's hard to walk a straight line when straight lines don't exist.