When Logic Runs Up Against Emotion (The Moving Chronicles)

My books. My precious books.

They are draining me. I have spent countless hours packing up books. A ridiculous amount of time. I have to. I have 14 million books. And they gotta go.

I have to sort the ones that are staying from the ones that are going. I have to transport the rejects to the swap shop at the dump, and to Goodwill.

They are not fucking rejects. They are my goddamn life.

I have to keep redefining the logic behind what stays and what goes. As the stay list gets thinner my heart gets more vulnerable.

Logic says "You gotta get rid of the goddamn books. Why do you need them?" Emotion says "Because they represent my whole fucking life." I came out of the womb with a book in my hands. Catcher In The Rye. And I never looked back.

Books have given me tens of thousands of hours of peace during my 69 years - indescribable peace and joy. I want to keep every one of them because they define me in every stage of my life. They represent my interests, my whims, my dreams and fantasies, my education, and my soul. At different ages and different stages and they are all me.

I love the way they feel in my hands. I love the way they smell. I love the worn ones, I love the pristine ones. I love the way they look and what a book represents.

We are not technically downsizing. The new place is as big if not bigger than this place. But it does not make sense to keep dragging all these books around. I will never re-read 99% of them. I used to think they would be the legacy I will leave behind, but I am just fooling myself. Nobody cares what books I have read but me. And I care deeply. But......................

There is a great deal of emotion tied up in moving, especially at the stage of life Carol and I are in. There is a powerful sense of taking the last turn in the road in our life. Sobering. 

Getting rid of stuff, downsizing, making our life easier, shedding baggage. There is a direct and somewhat sad message in what we are doing.

Especially when it comes to my books. I feel like I am tearing off chunks of my flesh and throwing them to the wolves. Truthfully, I am attacking my own soul, my soul which is staggering in bewilderment.

The longer you stick around, the nastier life gets.