the paper burns, but the words fly away

It's been over a month since I last saw my books. They were the first thing I packed, and are now the last I get to unpack. If it all sounds rather dramatic, well, then you should probably move to the next blog, because I don't know how to explain an emotional attachment to books to those who don't read, or get some kind of pleasure from seeing all the spines lined up; each representing a piece of time and a part of life for the person who placed them there. I am currently staring at almost 30 Fresh Direct boxes lined up along a wall, in anticipation.
In any event, after having the worlds most difficult time finding bookshelves that I (a) liked and (b) could afford (I need lots, and I'm guessing I didn't actually order enough), finding them, having that order canceled three weeks after it was placed, and having to again find similar ones at a similar price (and as I said to a friend last night, I sold my soul and had to order them from Wal*Mart ... they were cheap, I'm almost broke ... I was probably going to hell anyway ...) they are due to be delivered by UPS today. After last week's UPS debacle (I am not alone), I just called them to let them know I am home today, please at least ring the bell and pretend to attempt delivery ... but I was nice, so hopefully they won't just throw them at the front door of my building. So, we'll see. It's 8:30 a.m. Officially must be working now.