Working Down

Some time ago, I wrote of a pile of books that I have on my hands. They were out of sight and out of mind in boxes in the closet, but then I acquired a table. I wondered what I might do with the table, and then it occurred to me that I might keep the books that I mean to read there, and therefore make it more likely that I will read them by keeping them in my sight. That's how things stand. There could be twenty books there, but that's a guess.

They're not easy reads, a lot of them. I figured that in committing to them I could be dedicating years to their reading. That's a lot to cope with psychologically, because I have, as I previously noted, a hard time keeping myself from becoming infatuated with new books. That will be hard indeed, and I don't expect that I will remain true to this pile all the time. I hope that I can do it most of the time, though. I'll need to if I'm to dispose of them.

I haven't even really begun upon the path. I'm presently dealing with the latest book loaned out to me by a friend. After that, I may have a castoff from a different friend to read. Finally, I may then get to the true pile. At least I can console myself with the knowledge that it was once bigger still. A couple years ago at least, I set myself to this task and got through a fair number of books before I faltered and gave up. That can't happen again.

What shall become of the vanquished volumes? I tend to wish that such books be gone from my presence immediately, and so perhaps I will try and sell them to my local used book store. With my luck, many of them will prove undesirable to the store and thus unsalable This will leave me in a real quandary, because I would feel strange about throwing them away, and I would be no good and convincing friends to take them. I will probably be stuck with most of them forever, read or unread.