The other day, I was telling my brother the story of my books — how I love them, how I need to whittle their numbers down to a manageable size, and how I cannot seem to toss even one of them in the “donate” pile.
I know this seems like no big deal. Some books. Peashaw. Get over it.
You don’t understand — I have books piled up in my office and in office drawers that should be holding business documents. They’re taking up a significant portion of one of my bedroom closets, all three drawers of my (large) night stand, and inhabiting over half of my dining room server. As a result, my office looks like a paper bomb went off in it, my wine glasses are taking up precious kitchen cupboard space, my grandmother’s silverware is mixed in with sewing items (they are very similar, after all (!!)), and my remote controls, magazines, and tissues now live on top of my nightstand.
My brother listened to all my woes — he’s known me for his entire life after all and knows intimately my issues with books — and calmly replied, “You know, a little organization goes a long way. Why don’t you buy some bookshelves?”
Now, there are lots of reasons why I don’t own bookshelves. The first of which is that I’d have to cop up to owning more books than Carrie Bradshaw has shoes. The other is that while I love books themselves, I don’t really enjoy looking at them. I love smelling them, I love leafing through them, I love that they’re close by. I don’t need to see them — thus the reason they were invading every inch of storage I have.
His suggestion, however, had real merit. After all, everything else in my house was living out in the open because their storage space had been commandeered by books. So, why not just get some bookshelves and let the books hang out in the house for a while?
The result? I now have bookshelves in my entrance hall with a good number of my books on them. I actually really like how they look and I know have space to reorganize my world. I’ll let you know how that project goes.