You Are What You Read

There was something comforting, and almost inspiring, about being surrounded by all of my stuff this weekend. I had to sort through it, pitch some of it, and organize and pack the rest. I didn't even realize I missed myself so much. I am grateful to be on the couch, in my sweatpants, watching the Oscars. Loading and unloading the truck by myself proved to be a bit more than my body could take. It's days like these where I think having a husband or a dad could come in handy. It was nice to know I could still get it done on my own. Sometimes I wish I didn't feel I had so much to prove to myself. I think it's a matter of not wanting to inconvenience anyone, really. I have a ton of people in my life who would totally jump in and help without thinking twice. Nobody likes to move, however, and I didn't want anyone to feel obligated to say yes. Random thought: You know, I often think of things to write, short updates, or long anecdotes, throughout each day. More often than not, however, I just don't take the time to sit down and type it out. Sometimes it's a matter of not being in a position to be able to write. So, the thoughts are left to swim around in my head and drive me halfway to crazy. And we're back: I cannot wait until I move into a space where I can actually unpack all of my books. The last time I was able to do that was 10 years ago. I didn't really own many books then. Half of the bins I packed today contain books. My life is half books. Seems like an appropriate percentage.