(no subject)
For some reason, I have this huge... urge... to talk about how I almost died under a big mountain of my books. What the hell? This... this is probably a curse, isn't it? Or maybe I'm just dying of loneliness. Fuck.
Back then, I was living alone, of course! Shelves were functional and all, but for a bachelor living in a bachelor's apartment, they took up far too much space-- and really, I only needed one bookshelf for Akihiko's books. I was organizing them one day, alphabetically, and then I think I misjudged the balance of one stack then... of course it wobbled like hell and bam--
What? Of course it missed me.
That's the reason my first edition How the Panda Thinks About his Spots has some cuff damage on its cover, though.
Don't laugh. I'm not... doing this because I want to.
It's not so bad... saying that.
WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING?
THIS IS BAD.
Back then, I was living alone, of course! Shelves were functional and all, but for a bachelor living in a bachelor's apartment, they took up far too much space-- and really, I only needed one bookshelf for Akihiko's books. I was organizing them one day, alphabetically, and then I think I misjudged the balance of one stack then... of course it wobbled like hell and bam--
What? Of course it missed me.
That's the reason my first edition How the Panda Thinks About his Spots has some cuff damage on its cover, though.
Don't laugh. I'm not... doing this because I want to.
It's not so bad... saying that.
WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING?
THIS IS BAD.