Packing procedes energetically, if erractically. I have all my books packed. They take up 30 bankers boxes. Those were my just display books, too. There are 10 other boxes of assorted books that never get unpacked but which I wouldn't dream of selling (high school annuals, for instance, and books which mention me, my relatives, or my friends). I don't plan to unpack very many of them at the new place. My display is going to be reduced to five boxes worth, merely my essential reference books and the Georgette Heyers. I've set aside two grocery bags full of books to sell at Bookbuyers, and what they don't buy I'll give away. Begone with you, bad mysteries and historically inaccurate Regencies!
I've also packed all my videos, and that was a bigger job than I realized it would be due to having taped every Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode, plus five year's worth of Babylon 5, and an eclectic handful of movies (42nd Street, Dangerous Liaisons, the Legend of Fong Sai Yuk). I made myself put labels on the Babylon 5 tapes along the spine, so now I'm feeling virtuous. I'm very bad about labeling my tapes. Gee, just like my garden container labeling. I sense a trend.
What makes this packing business especially tricky is the cats insist on helping. They're underfoot, in the wrapping paper, and constantly scrabbling at the stringy shreds of old tape. I have to look inside everything before dumping in books or tapes; Keiko has snuck in at least three empty boxes and nearly gotten conked on the head with the intended contents. Dixie, sensibly, spends most of her time outside snoozing.
My work load continues to lighten as I clear away the detritus from the flood of bookings. I have only one seriously past due piece of business to take care of, and I'll have time to do it first thing tomorrow so I can be done with the madness. All the reservations have been made, or await the clients' decision, all the tickets have been ticketed, all the deposits called in, and all the forms filled out. I've had great conversations with all the people who were driving me apeshit last week, so I've rescued the relationships we'd established. Whew.
It's actually good for me to come home and launch into a bit of physical labor. It reminds me of how much better I feel when I get some exercise, especially the part where I stop. I was born lazy, I'm afraid. I've never liked physical exertion, never had excess energy, never particularly enjoyed sports. But I know it's good for me, and necessary for good health. I simply have trouble forcing myself to do what's good for me if it means going to any effort. I am the anti-Scott, basically. At least packing forces me to bend and lift and stretch. I think wistfully about joining a YMCA and taking weight lifting classes again, and then I sit back down at the computer and type in another entry for the journal.
Now that I've done so, it's time to start on the CDs. I've got a box for them somewhere around here....
The Index
Next Incarnation