I need to go on a major purge. It's simply difficult for me to get rid of things, and at this point I need to get rid of furniture. I now have three kitchen tables up (well, one dining room table), and it is probably in my best interest to get rid of ol' tv stands and coffee tables that are no longer used as tv stands and coffee tables. It's hard for me, because the tables are antiques from my grandparents, and the furniture reminds me of starting out in Kentucky.
I want to channel my inner Erica Hartwell and be a total minimalist, but I have a maxilist personality. A neighbor brought me over a pot of flowers and I gave her a tour of the first floor. "My, you sure have a lot of books," she quickly said. "Yeah," I responded, "But it's the end of the semester and I'm working on my own projects as well as those of my students. I'll re-shelve them all soon."
She has no idea. She hasn't seen my University office, nor the one kept for CWP. I have books everywhere and should simply just go with, "here's a library card. They're more efficient than I am." But books are my life story. I remember being in awe at the offices of my professors. Now, when kids stop by and ask, "Did you really read all these," I can respond. "Yes. These are the ones I kept. Same in my house and Writing Project office."
Seriously, though, I need to depart with much. It's meaningless in the end, anyways. But today's poem from one of my drawers.
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