Bookshelf

Too many books? The plan of the century: build another bookshelf. But that goes awry with a lack of time, and you think you're fine since the can of poly says "dries in two hours." Then you notice that it also says (and this is the night before you leave for college and so you need the bookshelf, but you procrastinated/were legitimately busy so only now finished painting) "allow 48 hours to 7 days to cure before moderate use."

What is moderate use? you think, panicked, fingers running through your hair. You look like Medusa yourself now, poly and hair and fear and stress and anger at the system. What is moderate use?

Can you place a pretty piece of paper, one of those ugly old fashioned flowery ones, underneath your books and hope they'll by all right when you come back at the end of the semester? Will you be able to peel the paper up at all, inch by painful inch, with that thick, paper-y sound of glue?

Or a doily? You just said doily. Nevermind.

Of course, bare-bottomed books are out of the question. Oil-poly, old books––no.

So you whine: "What am I going to do with all my books?"

Then your sister says: "Get a kindle already."

Anathema.

So, despite the work, despite the shiny, un-quite-cured bookshelf sitting there and smirking at you from the shop––

––you do as you always do, and stack the books higher and higher on the walls and behind each other on the old shelves. Maybe one day, you'll be able to know what books you do own. One day . . . .