Arrrrrrrgh. . . more books!!!

When is a book not a book? A book is not a book when it becomes a tripping hazard.

Four years ago I sold off about 60% of my book collection, a collection which consisted of rare antiquarian titles and almost every Canadian Great War publication ever issued. When we moved into these new digs two years ago I had plenty of free space on my shelves; enough to see me through until I weigh anchor for the last time. Or so I thought.

What is it with a book collector/reader? Can’t I just read one book at a time then place it on a shelf or pass it on? Not me, I have at least five on the go at once. Wouldn’t it be easier to borrow a book from a library then return it thus leaving shelf space for other things. . .like dust and, umm, things? No, no, I have to possess the book. It must find a place on the shelf.

The free space has disappeared. Books are crammed on top of books; books are stacked on the shelf in my closet; books are stacked by my bed; books are beginning to climb the walls. The books which do not occupy shelf space find themselves spread over the floor. I am ordered to pick them up or straighten them out at least once a week. It is almost impossible to vacuum my room without the cursed machine trying to eat a dust jacket or two.

I trip over the darn things in the middle of the night when, ah. . ., when nature calls. Sometimes this can be three or four times a night. It is a wonder I haven’t broken an ankle or worse.

Spot kicks them around during the night when he is looking for a comfy place to sleep. I think he does it on purpose so I can trip over them.

I do not have wall space remaining for another shelf. My books might have to take over the dining room. Never mind, I can’t afford a divorce lawyer.

Perhaps I should sell my library and start again. . . . somewhere in Digby County?