I have just finished eating my oats and yogurt although it is nearly noon. It isn’t that I slept so terribly late but rather that I was distracted and did not make a meal. The kettle is on for tea now. I have been busy contemplating. Mostly I am contemplating my books and my lack of nice shelves. My lack of any shelves in fact. Something must be done about this.
The less than beautiful paperbacks which I have read at least once but cannot part with are stacked in my bedroom.
Note to self: this summer strip the white paint off that little table.
My cat thinks this pile of books is a climbing toy. My cat has many ideas incompatible with my own. As I cooked that yummy breakfast oatmeal I stood in a puddle of water created by darling kitty who loves to dump out her water dish. I hate wet socks. Sophie is her name, but I think it should be Trouble. She likes to be in my photos too.
Anyhow, back to the books. There is also a pile of books that are my second hand finds and brand new splurges all awaiting my undivided attention. They need a home too.
I do have a pretty stack of old hardcovers. I remove the dust jackets because I prefer the muted colours of the original covers. But most of my purchases are paperbacks, read for pleasure not intended to act as art or trophies in my home.
I live in a rented two bedroom apartment. I am not to blame for the colour on the walls or that nasty beige carpet. But I am to blame for the unruly piles of books and I have yet to find a solution that appeals to me. Perhaps I should just open up a second hand book shop.