a rainforest’s worth of paper
Andy and I, we’re adventurous. We like to live on the edge.
On the edge of a precipitous pile of books, that is.
We don’t mind that they’re threatening to tumble down on us in our sleep.
Or that they tower over us as we’re trying to go about our daily business.
Or that they are generally threatening to take over our lives.
I recognize that this is a peculiar problem for seminary couples. For some reason, the typical seminary student is driven to distraction by the mere sight of a book that he/she might possibly be able to procure and bring home to live in the vast sea of paper that is already swallowing their spouse’s otherwise neat and tidy home whole.
Not that I’m bitter or anything. I just love sitting down with a cup of hot cocoa and snuggling up with this baby in the evenings:
Is it just me who doesn’t know what “elenctic” means?
Sure, some of these books are mine. Andy insisted on blending our books as some kind of sacred ritual to christen our marriage. I resisted, kicked, screamed, and finally submitted my precious marked up books to being “blended” into this:
My consolation is that I have a whole shelf in the bedroom devoted to military history, and every book on that shelf is mine. No blending. And the novels? All mine. Except maybe like, four.
I really am into the whole “oneness” in marriage thing.