I’ve been going through my books and determining which ones could be donated to Goodwill. Earlier today, three boxes of books were thus removed from my life. I filled up another and have empty boxes ready for the next wheat/chaff separation.

It feels strangely good. First, because I’ve donated them and can pretend that they’ll go on to have fantastically great lives in someone else’s hands. Second, because that’s three fewer boxes I’ll have to worry about packing up and moving with me when I find a new place. Third, because I got rid of some old college books as well as books that were recommended to me by people whose opinions held a lot of sway in my world 12 years ago but who I later came to see as mere mortals after all.

Essentially, lots of those books were an emotional purge; looking at them took me back to a specific time in my life when I was still fairly young, impressionable and not comfortable enough in my own skin to say, “You know what? I don’t like David Foster Wallace at all!” for fear of the people I quasi-pedestalled* losing respect for me because our tastes differed. Those days of youth.

* (Horrible neologism - sorry - but it wasn’t idol worship; I just had them up higher than they deserved to be.)

Anyway, among the books donated today was a copy of A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again. I hesitated for a moment, thought about keeping it so I could give it another shot - perhaps I just wasn’t in the frame of mind to enjoy David Foster Wallace at that time?? I looked at the back cover… read the back cover copy and saw that smug-ass author shot… and tossed it right in the box. See? I can’t even bring myself to post that photo here. I just can’t.

It’s getting late-ish for a Sunday night. I had some semblance of a weekend - which was very nice in an odd way. Even though I was pretty unhappy for most of it, it was an unburdened unhappiness. Lots of tension headaches and neckache. Lots of random around-the-house stuff like dyeing faded curtains, making pancakes and poached eggs and bacon for breakfast, doing dishes by hand since the dishwasher is broken, helping my sister do her hair for a wedding, laundry, ironing and blow-drying a wet book to save it from mildew and worse-than-death, assorted cleaning, purging of the books, etc.

And to treat myself, I ordered a MOO stickerbook of some of my Flickr photos. I don’t think you ever get too old for stickers, really.