|Just one wall ...|
We haven't seen him in, oh, six months. I think he's afraid to go down there. I know I am. When we come back from trips, I'm actually surprised to see the house still standing. I rather expect to see it sort of folded in on itself like ... well, like a giant book.
|All nooks get their books.|
Then we think about the hassle. Dealing with people. (Who can be annoying.) Packing and shipping and ... dealing with people (who can be annoying). And I know that the second a book is in the mail, I will need it for something--something vital. Perhaps life-saving.
Many of our books I have never read and never will read. They looked interesting; I bought them; I shelved them (back when we had shelf space); I looked at them fondly now and again. Then forgot about them. Moved on to another relationship.
But there they sit, neglected children, patient, uncomplaining, waiting for some parental attention. Waiting, you know, to be accepted, understood. Just like the rest of us.
But maybe they're more like neglected lovers. They are not patient; they are bitter. They groan in the night. They will get together with others like them. They will organize. Throw their weight around. Bring this whole place down!