I've lost count how many years I've been complaining about not having a place for my books. My dreams of simply having them all displayed feel like they're moving into the same level of one day going to Greece. It can and might happen; just not any time soon.
A few months ago I decided I was going to commandeer my tiny shelf and rescue my books. Yes I actually did use the word "commandeer." And the "rescue" was from my old room which is now inhabited by my sister's kids, who managed to get a giant black stain on the ceiling so you can imagine how I felt about my books being anywhere near them.
This post can also be called the life and times of my books.
My bookshelf before my ejection from my room:
My bookshelf after I decided to rescue my books:
That tiny shelf is now in my even tinier room with me, where I sometimes can not see the floor:
In the few years since I was left shelfless the number of books I've gotten have probably doubled. And as you can see above the shelf was already packed.
So I had to stick most of the books from those shelves in a cupboard.
Since I have so little room I didn't want to fill up my shelf right away but it's slowly filling up anyway:
|Close up of second shelf.|
The rest are still in a box under my desk:
Except those that I have gotten signed which are in a crate that thankfully fits under my bed:
I do have one other shelf, it's where I put a few when I finish.
One day they'll share a shelf together.