A month or so ago, Alex and I were operating under the assumption that he would get hired on where he is doing his internship, we'd move out of this on-campus apartment when our lease was up at the end of May and into the complex that's within walking distance, and all would be well. Then the job didn't happen, and we decided that if we were going to have to live in a shitty cheap apartment we might as well stay in our shitty reasonably cheap apartment and save the cost and hassle of moving. But in the original moving excitement, I had some boxes lying around so I went ahead and packed up the books that I'd already read, and they stayed in their boxes up until about half an hour ago.
It was kind of neat to get to go through and reorganize them. My favorite hobby is reading, hands down, and I purge my book collection pretty regularly to keep the volume down, so the ones that I have kept are the really, really good ones and the ones with sentimental value. It was nice to organize them and remember how awesome each book was, and how I felt after reading it. I will admit to fondly caressing one or twelve. I still have around 30 on the to-be-read shelves (c'mooonnn summer!!), which is exciting.
On an unrelated note, I probably should not be able to smell the molten lead from the bedroom where Alex is soldering shit. Does this mean he has already filled up half of the apartment with his lead fumes and they are seeping into the living room...?