When I moved in a few months ago, my mom already had these huge diagonal shelves in the apartment where I am now living. They are heavy things, and hard to move, so they had to stay, and when I unpacked all my books and CDs they just went haphazardly onto the closest shelves. The books were already a bit jumbled because they were packed according to size and shape to fill boxes, without regard for keeping series together or keeping the books I’ve read separate from the ones I haven’t read yet. So, now that I have settled in a bit, it is time to sort the books and put them away properly.
I have hundreds, maybe even close to a thousand books, even after moving, though I used to have over 3000 books a few years ago. Every time I move my book collection gets whittled away, my plant collection drops to nearly nothing, and I feel like another few years of my precarious wealth accumulation gets shed to thrift stores and free stuff piles as I pack up and try to keep moving as easy as possible. As a perpetually poor person who stayed in college way too long, I always feel a bit more defeated after every move, watching my carefully acquired nest of things get peeled away with every move.
I know this apartment is not where I want to live for more than a year or two, so I know I’ll have to move it all again, but at least for this year my books will be in order again, soon.