I think I’ve mentioned before that throughout the past few years I’ve been a bit of a vagabond. The life of a student and then the desire to live from whim to whim…. and then back to student-life again has equated to 12 moves in the past 8 years. ….So I gather that’s pretty normal for the average 20 something these days. It’s just too bad that I never learned how to adapt to the nomadic life-style.
What I mean to say is that I think my parents might kill me if I told them there would be another move in the next year, or rather one I would conscript them to help me with. It probably has a lot to do with the baggage… but mostly I think it has to do with the books.
These days I’m pretty book-worm stoked to have the ability to revel daily amongst all the titles in my collection. They aren’t left packed in boxes in closets or hidden away in any available corners of space, or staked in the garage at my parent’s house. Anyone who has lived in many different places will know what I mean when I say how much of a relief it is to have a semi-permanent set up – if only for the immediate future.
Now seeing all the books lined up and out in the open, it turns out I have more Christmas titled books in my collection then I do days left until Christmas. I have happily piled them neatly around the living room, dining room, kitchen and bedroom so that out of every corner peripheral or direct vision there’s a little bit O’ Christmas Lit that catches your eye. It’s a lot like what I’m sure hunters do with deer heads in a lodge or what mice might do with shiny trinkets in their sawdust nests…. except in my case it is stories of tidings and joy.