Too many books....

My grandparents used to swear our house was going to collapse because my parents had so many books. Turns out, some problems are hereditary. I was an English major by choice, a bibliophile by birth. The end result? Way. Too. Many. Books.

I went to Philly yesterday to get some of my stuff while I still have my car. My plan was to grab a few books, a few clothes, and just a couple other odds and ends. I guess I'm an optimist, because it never once occurred to me that I'd run out of space in my car. Oh, but I did!! I went to the liquor store to grab some boxes, and the woman told me I could have five.

Oh lady, you have not seen my book collection. But I took the five and headed back to my house. Thankfully, I found several other boxes in the living room closet and in the basement that I could use (and yes, in my search for boxes I did also find more boxes of books that I'd never even unpacked yet....). I easily filled all of those empty boxes and the five new ones, but I still had shelves full of books. Sheepishly, I headed back to the liquor store.

Do you think I could possibly, um, have a few more boxes?
"Like how many?"
Three??
"Yeah, that's fine. You should take that big one on the bottom over there."
Sweet, thanks! You know how once you start packing, you realize how much stuff you actually have?
"I sure do-- that's why I just moved for the last time for a loooooong time."
Yeah, that's what I said this time last year when I was unpacking.

As I packed box after box and then carried box after bin after box to the basement and to my car, I couldn't help remembering unpacking them all exactly a year ago: The good news is, I don't have to move again for a very long time!-- I had said. Famous. Last. Words.

It hit me hard while I was driving back home to New York. Home. To New York. Away from Philly, the place that was supposed to be home. I feel like a failure. When I left in May, there was a chance I was coming back at the end of the summer. This time is for real; it's official that my attempt to "settle down" didn't work.

My parents stopped in New York today to see all of us kids and to celebrate my birthday as a family. I called Tim last night to talk about the details. After we talked for a few minutes,
"Are you sick? Or crying? Or tired?"
Um.....
"What's wrong?"
Today was just hard. I can't believe I'm leaving Philly. It's not that I want to stay-- it's that I'm upset that I don't want to stay. I feel like a failure and I'm exhausted and I'm drained and I have to carry all this stuff up three flights of stairs and it's late and I have to work in the morning.....
"How far are you from home?"
About an hour-- I'll probably get there around 10.
"Do you want me to come help you unload?"

I told him not to come-- told him that I would be okay doing it by myself, I was just drained and feeling overwhelmed. As I was unloading, Steve called me: "Are you going to be okay unloading by yourself? I can be there in a half hour." I told him the same thing I'd told Tim-- that I really appreciated his offer but that I would be okay (and that I'd save the books in the trunk for when they come over for my birthday).

So I have all these books that I carry from place to place to place. I'm not sure where or if they'll ever find a permanent home. But in the meantime, I'm glad that I have brothers who are willing to help me carry them around. I mean, I can carry them by myself; I proved that yesterday-- but there sure is something amazing about knowing there are people who are willing to help you carry your burdens or your books, whatever the case may be.