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Spring Cleaning in the (Early) Autumn of One's Years

The urge to, after decades, to catalog one's stuff.

Is this a (see photo) thing?

I estimate I'm only 20% or less through my book and zine collection (off-on cataloging the last year) and approaching 1500 items. >shakes head<

And this excludes the larger comic collection which, after half-a-century, I stopped collecting cold-turkey last Fall and am considering parting with.

Like music and scents, there is something about books that stirs the memory of the time I first read them, evoking a bittersweet nostalgia of long ago spring days when warm breezes gently lifted the lace curtains of my bedroom window while I read Lord Dunsany, William Morris, or Edgar Rice Burroughs; or of smoke-scented cool autumn nights when dead leaves skittered like chittering spiders along the silent streets while I read Ray Bradbury, H. P. Lovecraft, and Clark Ashton Smith...

...What's that?

Am I also considering parting with my books?

My "pretties?"

No, no, no.

I'm not dead yet. ;)

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