Please don't ask why there's an emergency exit sign in my bathroom; I've been trying to figure that out for almost two years myself. It also points in the wrong direction.
Dollar had sent out everything smaller than an SUV by the time I got to the counter with my reservation number clutched in my sweaty fist, so instead of my usual rolling anchovy tin, Thursday afternoon I had Pure Hauling Power in the form of a Chrysler Pacifica. I had cup holders up the yin-yang. I had a DVD player for the entertainment of anyone lounging in the back of my aircraft carrier. I had two and a half more feet to consider when looking for parking spaces; more even than I'm used to from my days driving the company van to catering jobs. Pulling into the Albertson's parking lot in Danville in that baby, on my way to my annual doctor visit, I was Rachel Griffiths in the Pip Karmel film Me Myself I, dumped unceremoniously and without warning into a life I might have led, had things been different. I couldn't figure out what I'd done with my 2.3 kids, but I knew they had to be around somewhere--an illusion only enhanced by my purchase of a twelve-roll package of toilet paper and ten packets of chocolate chip cookie mix (hey, they were on sale, okay?)
Look, I'm a soccer mom! I chirped a couple of hours later, swinging out of my rental in the driveway of Java's new place. I see that, he responded, leading the way into a kitchen that appeared to be molting, but an evil one.
I was taking advantage of my unexpected upgrade and performing a complex transfer I'd only dreamt of being able to do before the weekend: giving Java my (mismatched) bookshelves so I could make room for the spare (matched) shelves BunnySlope was giving me as she moved from one place to another. Why virtually all of my friends moved on Thursday is a total mystery--not only Java and BunnySlope but Thread. Not just all at the same general time, but on the same day. And Slick, it turns out, is moving tomorrow. Clearly I missed the memo.
But I didn't miss the chance to stir up the board feet. As soon as I got home and got the uprights out of my boat, I was moving books around. I've only assembled two of the three units BunnySlope and her partner were gracious enough to give me, but it's already making a huge difference in my place. At least one I can see, although the improvement might be a little subtle to the untrained eye. I'm trying to go from books in five shelving units and all over the floor to three units, period. People who love books will understand my blissed-out state of the past couple of days--I've been handling my babies until I'm too tired to stand. Does this one want to be over here with the foreign language dictionaries or here next to the fiction? Will all of the craft books fit on the same shelf, or do I need to start another one? Should I put 'fibers' and 'fabric painting' next to 'papermaking', or closer to 'painting'? Should I sort by size or spectral order?
It's been great. Makes the prospect of moving--I've been thinking about that again this week--seem like not such a given. Because I'm feeling like there's hope for getting organized and pleasant and guest-worthy in here.
