During a heated discussion between my roommates this afternoon, I had a chance to finally get my bookshelf organized. (The problem of course being that the number is going to expand once my half-brother and I get through dividing up my dad's book collections and I move my library from mom's house up here.)
Anyway, as I was organizing the damn thing by author, size, and series, I began to realize that there is no great meaning among my books. Patterns yes, but no underlying meaning. Not that this bugs me, but anyone looking at it would think I'm nucking futz. One wonders what if Terry Pratchett's library theories (books stored together interact) were true. I'd love to see the bitch fight between the Tibeten Book of the Dead and oh say Herald Vanyel of Mercedes Lackey's Last Herald Mage series. Or for that matter, Diana Tregarde taking on Plato.
Yes, this is what happens when the caffiene hits an otherwise empty stomach. Be afraid, be very afraid.
- Tags:bitch, books
- Music:"Smokin' in the Boy's Room"-Motley Crue