Once I Thought It Impossible...
...But now I am forced to admit: I HAVE TOO MANY BOOKS. And oh, some of you are now denying there is any such thing, BUT OH, THERE IS. "Too many" is not "my room overflows". "Too many" is not "in my bathroom, there are books on the windowsill and books in the linen cupboard and books in the Secret Dedicated Cabinet of Bathtub Reading". "Too many" is not even "I have reached the point where it is easier to buy another copy than to find the book I want". No, I reached "too many" today, when I went looking for a particular, much beloved poetry textbook inherited from my father and looked first in my room, then in my car, then in the garage, and then went into the Cave of Books and Lawnmowers*, aka, my dad's shop. A cursory search there revealed two dedicated poetry anthologies and six literature textbooks for classes I've never taken (twice in my life, my schools have given away books for free without imposing a limit; this either ended very well for me or not well at all, considering current circumstances). I say cursory because my search had to be abandoned 20 minutes in when I was almost killed in a LANDSLIDE OF BOOK CARTONS.
THAT is the tipping point; WHEN FERAL BOOKS BEGIN DEFENDING THEIR TERRITORY, you have TOO MANY.
*Sometimes we call it Dad's Batcave. There really isn't a reason for him to have a shop, it's mostly there was a lot of yard and then suddenly, he was commissioning a building, and now there are like 30 cartons of my books, and like six lawnmowers/lawn tractors in there.
THAT is the tipping point; WHEN FERAL BOOKS BEGIN DEFENDING THEIR TERRITORY, you have TOO MANY.
*Sometimes we call it Dad's Batcave. There really isn't a reason for him to have a shop, it's mostly there was a lot of yard and then suddenly, he was commissioning a building, and now there are like 30 cartons of my books, and like six lawnmowers/lawn tractors in there.