Sarah's Books - Used & Rare

Buying a home makes me wonder if this is what an arranged marriage would have been like - lots of people milling around during the faux-courtship, keeping the principals from getting to know each other better, lots of arcane paperwork to fill out, weeks of waiting, and a stomach-sinking wondering what the hell life will be like when it's just the two of you, alone, finally, after all the pomp and circumstance winds down. I haven't yet been able to spend any time alone with our house-to-be. I will soon be spending a lot of days there alone, so naturally, I'm hoping we'll get along just fine. Until then, I am mighty stressed out. I mean, I do love this house, BUT. I am an anxious person, despite the yoga and meditation, and in the face of moving, anxious I remain.

I haven't started to pack yet (I'm still half-heartedly sorting books, and the number I'm bringing to the shop has trickled down to zero), so I've been distracting myself by reading bookish articles such as this one by Joe Queenan, about the perils of accepting odd books as gifts ("Here, I just know you'll love this!") when one has one's own reading program already mapped out, as it were: "...I am sure I am not alone when I state that cavalierly foisting unsolicited reading material upon book lovers is like buying underwear for people you hardly know. Bibliophiles are ceaselessly engaged in the mental reconfiguration of a Platonic reading list that will occupy them for the next 35 years: First, I'll get to 'Buddenbrooks,' then 'The Man Without Qualities,'..." Ah, yes. Even Plato is on my Platonic reading list. Gotta run - ninety people just walked into the shop. Well, nine people. But the shop's small, so it feels like ninety.