The amount of crap I have is truly driving me bugfuck. Not to mention that I have no place to put things. The Tuscan Nightmare room has Gimlet and her kittens (Sidecar, Cosmo, Mai Tai and Tom Collins), plus the second I get her out of there and either adopted or in the general population I want to start work on it as the wallpaper is bubbly in parts and the paint job truly nauseating (thanks again, idiot ex! Just had to "finish" the room before you moved out, even though I said not to bother.). The red room is still locked. The attic--well, that's how I forgot about how much I had in the first place, no?
It's the books that are the tipping point. I have so many that I thrifted in crap condition that I bought just to have. I can't sell them, they are still readable so I'd feel guilty recycling them (I love my town--they do let you recycle books on the sidelawn!) so I have to give them away, back to the thrifts because Friends of the Library doesn't give tax deductions. Goodbye Booth Tarkington! I suspect that everyone else has forgotten you. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall--well, Jasper Fforde has been slagging on the Bronte girls a ton, so I'm sure I'll remember you. It's Charlotte who helped her husband knock off Emily and Anne and then died of morning sickness, right? Oh, Michael Chabon. I am getting rid of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, even if it is a masterpiece, because since I found out you are married to first class nutter Ayelet Waldman, I cannot take you seriously. I'm keeping A Passage To India because of my mild literature set in India interest, and Persuasion because it has been a Jane Austen sort of year, but The Dante Club violates the "No serial killers!" rule and must go.
Thank heavens I have been able to stop buying books and magazines. Now onto the dratted library habit.
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