As today's photo shows, I spent this afternoon organizing my books here at home. It's been at least a year--and probably about six months more than that--since I got them into some sense of order. I bring in at least one new book each week, and usually more than that. I had a few piles of books in various places. And it was getting difficult to find things. It once took me three days to find one. I scanned each shelf and pile here at home, then I did the same in my office, then I did the same here again and finally found it. That really pissed me off because I don't have that much time to spend searching for random books when I need them. Luckily, Da Man cleared off some shelf space for me in the bedroom by moving a few things into his office here at home. That gave me a whole new bookcase to play with, and I needed it. I put all the books into particular groups that make sense to me so that I would be able to find things when I need them.
That's what organizing is about, the psychological. That makes it sound like I'm a control freak, and I guess I am in some ways but certainly not in others. I think of it more as comfort. When I'm at home, I want to feel like I'm surrounded by safety and security. And I feel a lot better knowing what I have and where it is. But I will also admit that it's a bit depressing, too. I found some books that made me think, "Oh, yeah, I was going to read that and perhaps pursue a project where I explored this and that." I could still read those books and do those things, of course. But it started to feel like what-I-hadn't was starting to exceed what-I-had.
But it also got me thinking how I need to go over my books now and then, pulling out something that triggers a thought. And then keeping track of the thoughts. For now, though, I'll be reading a book that just arrived from Amazon yesterday.