Sunday, April 22, 2007


This weekend I sold off a LOT of stuff--especially unused and expensive photography gear--then moved the bookshelves downstairs, back from their exile in the unused corner of my never-quite-furnished bedroom (yes, I'm moving to Houston soon, but the furniture re-arrranging is in service of set decoration, as we're using my place as the principle location on DANGEROUS WRITING.) Interesting thing. Getting rid of the photo gear not only closes an awkward chapter of my life, but bringing the books back downstairs into my main living space re-opens another part of my life that I had more or less closed. I feel different having my books back where they can whisper to me. It's an eery feeling. It underscores not only the big change I'm undergoing right now, but also the re-integration that may also be happening. I used to be smart, once. It'd be nice to feel at home with words--other people's words--again.

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