I have way too much shit.
Today I finally moved the vast majority of my belongings out of my old apartment and into our new place. Matt helped me, and even more importantly, so did my dad. I took the bus out to the New Jersey ‘burbs to borrow my parents’ SUV, but because I hadn’t driven in more than a year, my dad decided to drive it instead. We managed to move most of the stuff in two trips. (My brother might help me move the rest of the stuff, which is not very much, next weekend.) When we dropped each load off at the new building, the on-duty guard and the superintendent both helped us unload the car and bring stuff up in the freight elevator. The 27-inch TV that Matt and I struggled to carry down my steps with our combined strength? The guard carried it out of the car and into the lobby by himself. By 1:45 pm we were done unloading stuff, and Matt and I spent the rest of the day setting things up.
We set up my TV and TV stand and my two six-foot-tall bookcases, and we laid out and vacuumed a couple of faux-oriental carpets. I set up my CD collection and unpacked all my books, which is what the first line of this post is all about. I have way too much shit. My books don’t even all fit in the bookcases – there’s a big overspill here in my computer room. And my CD collection is too big for the 450-CD rack I bought several years ago.
I don’t know why I have so many books. Some of them I haven’t even read. Some of them I’ve read and will never open again. But it’s so hard to part with books. And my collection overflows despite my loading up a big cardboard box with books that I’m planning to donate or leave on the street next weekend when my lease ends.
But books are comforting. They’re here for me, with their eclectic multicolored spines, waiting to be read or consulted. Fiction, history, biography, reference, self-help, gay issues, Tolkien. A world – no, an intellectual universe – awaits.
If only I didn’t have to move the damn things whenever I switch apartments.