The more serious literature whimpered as I added it to the pile.

My head is still filled with glue and I'm achy and hot and cold and wishing I could feel okay about calling in again tomorrow...but I managed to salvage the day, at least in terms of the war on clutter.  Michael agreed to take me to The Container Store on the way to get my tortilla soup from California Pizza Kitchen. I picked up two beautiful new file boxes for the cabinet in the hallway, with the hope that this way, I'll do the filing right away upon opening the mail. I also got some reusable, erasable file tabs, which I'm irrationally excited about.  So now when I get to the filing in the "back room" I'll be ready with a new, more usable system!

I also ventured into the back room--which is saying a lot, considering you can't see the floor--and went through the books. I tried the band aid approach...pull it off the shelf and decide quickly! I made three piles, as I did the other night...one for Becca, one for my sister, and one to donate.  I got rid of about another 100 books or so. It hurt. It really did. I have no idea what this says about me.  I tried to rationalize with myself...after all, I probably won't re-read many of these books, since I always have a long list of new books to read.  And, after you know the ending, it's not really as fun, is it? And a lot of them were fluffy chick lit or sappy Nicholas Sparks books.  The Jodi Picoults and Elizabeth Bergs were even harder to get rid of.  The more serious literature whimpered as I added it to the pile.  But we were so good to you! I kid you not,  I felt like I was abandoning old friends.  I only kept books I hadn't read, books that weren't mine to give away, business/educational kind of books, inspirational books that I will read again and signed copies of books.  I put them out in the hallway for the girls to come grab and I had to stop myself from taking them back in.  I remember how much I liked some of them, and how touched I was! Michael says I must really attach myself to books, and I guess that's true, because it felt like I left part of myself out there in the hallway, which made me a little anxious.  There's something about reading words that so clearly articulate how you feel or could feel or would feel. Or when you read something so fluid and poetic and true that you wish you'd written it yourself.  Maybe it's just me...maybe it's the wanna-be writer in me.

The only thing that's helping is that I can hear a few girls out there going through them, laughing, and sounding excited.  In fact, even though I'm sick and moving hurts, I jumped up when I heard them and ran to listen at the door.  I wanted to make sure they weren't making fun of my books. Or me. But they weren't. They sounded happy at the prospect of free books.

So at least there's that. I'll hold on to that.

In other news, I think I've decided that since February is the month of love, I'll focus on intimacy and connections next month.  Which will mean spending time in the common room when I'm on duty, and answering the phone when it rings, and finding my way to Gina's apartment, and helping Tiff get ready for my new niece or nephew and playing board games with my niece and getting off the couch and painting pottery with Michael and maybe having a dinner party.  Send along any other suggestions you have to foster connectedness and intimacy...