We moved our books out of storage today.  The living room is now overrun by piles and piles of novels and poetry and political theory.  It’s the first time I’ve felt semi-calm in four months.  It’s the first time I’ve seen any of my books in four months.  Hell, it’s the first time I’ve seen 95% of my things in four months.

I love my books.  It is not unusual for Megan and I to be having a conversation which I interrupt by running off to get a book that either contains information helpful for the conversation, some tangential but related information, or just to share something I have on the shelves that our conversation made me think of.  Being without them…well…it’s not so interesting to say “let’s remember this moment, because I have a book in storage that is perfect for this.”

It was so exciting to unpack those today – and though this whole saga is not quite over yet – I can see the light (aka: the closing) at the end of the tunnel and the books are back and that is beautiful.  My greedy eyes have missed the poetry I regularly take off the shelves and read and I’m so happy to return to that part of life.