I'm clearing out more books, and it's weird. I have a lot of books. Most of them still aren't in Goodreads (and I get that funny guilty twinge whenever it recommends a book I've already read and have on the shelves to me). And given that Goodreads lists about six hundred books on my "owned" shelf, and yes, I really did mean most of them still aren't in the system...

...I have a lot of books.

It's being a lot easier to cull them this time, and it's nothing to do with not wanting to read. On top of the books, I have a particular attitude: I don't want to be the kind of person who gets rid of a book. I have had this attitude for a long time. I've had it since before we bought our house.

I've had it since before I rented my own place.

I've had it since before I moved out and went to university.

I've had it since before I went to boarding school in Switzerland[1], and that was for ninth grade.

Like some of the books I still own, I've had it since I lived in London as a kid.

I think it's very easy to embrace absolutes when you're a kid. And it's easy not to question those absolutes, especially when they're not overtly harmful. I don't want to be the kind of person who lets go of a book. Because books are awesome, dammit. I mean, that hasn't changed for me--books are amazing, books make me happy, new ones can be a wonder and old ones are a comfort and I don't see this changing. I love (the best of) my books, and I love the idea of books, and I have a respect for the physical integrity of books (even ones I don't like) that's... quite hard to override.

When I developed this attitude, I didn't understand certain things that I understand now. Like the fact of limited space in housing, and how sheddy long-haired cats can be, and how books can pile up and collect dust. Shared space, really shared space (our anniversary's tomorrow <3 ), and the importance of not having someone you live with made uncomfortable by your housekeeping. The low-level cringe that a cluttered room induces. The embarrassment of finding you already own a book you just got[2]--fortunately I've never bought one and had that happen, but there've been friend loans and library loans and... yeah, it's not a good feeling.

I'm still not the kind of person who gets rid of books casually. But I don't want to look at myself and say I'm the kind of person who won't get a book out of her house if it's making her unhappy to have it there. There's nothing noble or devoted about that.

That's damaging, albeit in a low-level constant-background what-weight-do-you-mean-oh-this-weight-I've-been-carrying-this-weight-so-long-I-don't-hardly-notice-it-no-more, and I am, finally, too old for that shit.
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[1] In a former tuberculosis sanitarium.
[2] This is totally different from buying a replacement for a battered copy, or deliberately picking up a second copy for love or loaning purposes. On this note, you should all read Days by James Lovegrove, Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner, and Mystic River by Dennis Lehane. Seriously.

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

Okay. So we're just catching up on Game of Thrones--watching the last two episodes tonight, in fact--and as you might expect it's being an HBO show, with a lot of sex and it's just dawning on me that I think they haven't actually shown any sex that's consensual or uncreepy since Jon and Ygritte. Four episodes ago.[1]

They haven't even talked about it, unless Ygritte talking to Jon about his technique was three episodes ago instead of four. Instead we're getting Joffrey and Mero talking up their plans, and then there was Littlefinger trading Roz to Joffrey for a snuff session, and...

I am bored, and mildly grossed out.

Gonna back to cheering Sam, now.
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[1] As I was about to hit post, I remembered that Robb and Talisa actually got a few minutes of cute naked screentime last episode. My mistake. So we are averaging one scene every two episodes over the last month, whooo.

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

All 93 issues of Heavy Metal rehomed, and someone is willing to take the laptop despite its occasional "oh, were you doing something? sorry, I am busy being a frozen brick now" tendencies[1], so that's good. Also there's a garage sale on our street this Saturday; looking to maybe get some stuff out.

The carrybag for the laptop has a half-busted zipper (it's double-ended, so you can still close it 2/3s of the way). Am trying to decide if that should mean toss it (I have tried but cannot repair it myself, and zipper replacement tends to run $1-2 per inch), keep it for knitting-projects-etcetera, or send it off with the laptop and let the new owners decide.

Also trying to catch up on reading (I had one of those horribly embarrassing moments cleaning the library[2]), clean all the dishes etcetera because we're getting our first box of vegetables tonight and it will be good to have all implements and all counter space available while we decide what to do with them, catch up on laundry, and possibly finish going through the box of things that Absolutely Need Putting Away from the coffee table. (I am a third of the way through it. It doesn't seem like enough.)

If I am feeling better later, may try to reseed a patch of the back yard, but I don't think that's happening today.

...when I write it out, it sounds productive. I'm not sure if this is a clever illusion or not.
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[1] Which mostly kick in when it moves or tilts. Very annoying behaviour for a portable.
[2] "Wait, I own this[3]? Dammit. I had to borrow it from a friend to read it."
[3] This, in this case, being Coraline.

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

I have/had/am getting rid of ninety-three issues of Heavy Metal, mostly from 2002 to 2010, although one is from as early as '79 (second anniversary issue, yay). Mostly in good condition (and a few still sealed >.< ), although a couple have been foxed by cats.

I'm going to see about Freecycle or something, I think, although if anyone local (or who is willing to cover postage) is missing anything specific, now might be a good time to let me know? I would feel better getting these out of here if I knew some of them were going somewhere friendly.

(The fact that I worry about the landing place of comics I haven't read in years is probably an excellent hint as to why I am currently running short on shelf space.)

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

He brings me trailers.

And the trailers make be bounce and squee and carillion I knew it![1] before I have even finished my coffee.

The trailer advertises a new show within an existing continuum, and contains what is probably a spoiler. It will probably be revealed early in the first episode, but that is not for a few months yet, so I am carefully talking around it. (Trailer is here if you want a look though.)
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[1] Please note: that "I knew it!" is not the cry of someone who is right. That is the cry of someone who happens to be right and is happy. For a cinematic version, please refer to Brandon Wheeger's response when he is explaining that he understands completely that Galaxy Quest is just a TV show, and is interrupted and told that it is all real.

I am thinking, now, of Thad Beaumont's attempt to explain a writer's grasp on the reality of the fiction he writes about.

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

The cats are happy.

The cats are happy because there is more space.

The cats are happy because there is more space because I have been cleaning out the coffee table in the living room so that we can move it and there are many books and many magazines that have been moved and I am trying to organize this and I think that things are coming to a bit of a head in my head.

Angus has been peering curiously at me, and sticking his head over the edge of the table, and climbing around the undershelf, and proving to himself that yes, he can walk on all these spaces (and can get from the table across onto the other table if he just s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s). He seems very proud of himself.

It's May. How can I feel this overwhelmed by books in May?

So.

I am not saying "no more books". But the thought of getting almost[1] any more books right now makes me feel a bit tired, and that's not a feeling I want, and especially not from books.

And for the love, someone teach me how to be okay with getting rid of magazines?
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[1] The stuff on my wishlist-plus list on Goodreads? That would be ok. I may pare it down a bit again, though.

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

Ray Harryhausen died today, less than eight weeks shy of his 94th birthday.

(First thought, when I got the news, was remembering hearing that he and Bradbury went to the movies together as kids.)

And I'm sitting here, remembering Clash of the Titans a little vaguely, and the skeletons[1] much more clearly. Not as cool for me as I guess it must have been for the people who first saw them, but damn that was something.

(Upon reflection, I think we may actually have gotten shown some of those movies in class when I was a kid. In a section on Greek myths or ancient history or something. Which would be odd, but I guess not totally unreasonable.)

Feeling a little stunned, not that he'd been working lately and his work is now gone, but that he's not there anymore. I grew up knowing he'd always been around, you know? And he wasn't Bradbury or Eisner to me, but it feels very strange to hear that he died.

RIP.
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[1] From Jason and the Argonauts. Come on, I cannot be the only one who remembers that...

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

Went to bed two hours ago. Cannot sleep; partly I have a cracking headache, partly I'm hungry, partly I'm apparently just not tired. Going to grab a pita and maybe try warm milk and honey.

Lucy's right eye is getting a bit goopy; she's squinching it more shut than the left one, sometimes lightly so, sometimes noticeably so. Hoping it clears up in a day (she gets this sometimes); if not, will see about a doctor's appointment. Am particularly sympathetic to itchy eyes right now, as I just realized that I can't do the warm milk thing without aggravating my own allergies.

Anyway. Warm soothing drink of some variety, and possibly a bit of laundry folding until I feel sleepy.

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

I've cleared three books off my to-read list (two by turfing them, one by starting it), gotten four boxes of stuff downstairs and labelled for CDA pickup (unfortunately they're actually coming tomorrow, not today, but better to be ready early than late), worked on a little knitting that is reminiscent of if perhaps not strictly inspired by the Samuel Mather Parrington Museum, and dug up, seeded, and watered perhaps two square feet of back yard, juggled laundry and dishwasher a little, and finally gotten my New York pictures... well, not up. But up for vetting. I may put up a small photo post tomorrow.

Weirdly, the thing I'm happiest about is the book extraction. Second-happiest goes to the back yard. I'm hoping to do a more there tomorrow, as well as running around picking up assorted kinds of cat food (possibly over multiple trips).

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)

I've come to the realization that I have too many things; things to do or things to use or things to own, but ultimately things. Stuff. Clutter.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this, but I need to do something.

The owned and bad or unused stuff, that's actually kind of easiest. CDA comes by pretty regularly; between that and garbage, what that takes is mostly the effort to decide to remove things, which is not that hard. (The owned and used-but-rarely stuff is a similar animal; more effort to decide "I like it, but not so much that it is worth the space in my home, or its share of the space allotted to such things in my home".)

Then there's the things I want to do. The discretionary time. TV shows, books, movies, reading, scribbling-of-assorted-kinds, puzzles, knitting, occasionally cooking, gaming. (I guess things to use is a subset of this, or in some ways acts as subsidiary to it; puzzles to assemble, books to read, yarn to knit.)

I do not have enough time. I mean, I recently looked at exactly how many books I have, and... uhm... it is not right to get a book and not read it, I think, or to get yarn and not knit it. I would like to do right by my books. (Waiting is okay, but there is a point at which you must realize you have gone from "waiting for the right moment" to "not reading", and... well, you should at least assess the idea that perhaps you have changed enough that there will not be a right moment, so you should find the book a home where someone will love it. Or something.)

So I think I need to weed through my stuff (I did a yarn purge late last year; I do try and cull books, but it's slow), as much in terms of what I would like to use as well as what I already have to use. I am not sure exactly how to do that, because it basically means deciding that there's this thing I like doing but that I'm not going to do anymore because time/space/energy.

I think this might be being an adult. It kind of sucks.

(This post has been crossposted from DreamWidth)