An Unnatural Lust for Cardboard


Moving does strange things to you. Like, I seem to be developing a disturbing fixation on boxes. I've taken to stopping random strangers: "Hey, you have a box! Is it empty? Are you gonna throw it away? Can I have it?" I scored a carload off a co-worker of mine, left over from the last time she moved, and a bunch more today from the produce guys at the local supermarket, but it's just not enough. I actually turned my car around earlier today because I thought I saw some empty boxes sitting out behind a liquor store. (They weren't. They had bottles in them, probably for recycling. Damn it.)

So, yeah, I've been packing. And packing. And packing. I've actually got most of the books boxed up now, after several weeks of intermittent effort. I've just got one more shelf of non-fiction, and the reference books. Well, and the To-Read Pile, which is about another 400 or 500 books, but I'm trying not to think about that. Yep, You Know You Have Too Many Books When you've got 500 left to pack and you're thinking "Yippee! I'm almost done!" Aargh. Remind me again why I wanted to move?