Packing Books

i'm in a mood tonight. and not a good one. not sure why. maybe it's that i am dreading going to work tomorrow. or maybe i am tired. or overwhelmed. or maybe it's because i'm at that beginning stage of packing where i've gotten just enough done to feel slightly daunted by the task, and i realize it may be a lot easier and perhaps even more productive to accidentally start a fire in my apartment. however, after 2 weeks of staring at the disaster that is my apartment and dreading the thought of this process of packing, I have begun. I packed my first three boxes tonight. I started with the books... i realize that's always the easiest place to begin, and it really helps set the tone for the ever-dreaded task of loading up all my earthly possessions (and realizing how many unnecessary things i have), and propels me towards greater motivation. i can say i've been productive this evening, and that's a pretty nice feeling. it's funny, though, packing books. i love books. i like the thought of so many words, ideas, stories, thoughts in something i can hold in my hand. But will i really read these books again? why do i keep them? yet something keeps me from parting with them. staring at my books also reminds me of the many different parts of my life and personality, and maybe that's why i keep them. they're sort of representative of me, and they remind me in a weird way of who i am, where i've been, and where i'd like to someday go.