One Shelf Down

I just spent the better part of an hour clearing off a shelf in my living room. The shelves are industrial and hold a tremendous amount of weight. I know for a fact now because I cleaned out my old books. I had thirty old books I purchased in my Tellipro days. Most of them gathered dust, but a couple of them helped me through some tough times at my old employer. In the pile was also an old broken laptop (not toe one you gave me Adam, another one.) and several old cables and disks with useless crap on them. The two things I thought were still useful went in to bins on lower shelves. The dust was inspiring. Inspiring me to want to run the vacuum. Haven't yet.

Nat went to Sam's to get away and feel a sense of accomplishment. Elle helped me pick up a stack of envelopes that made it's way to the floor in a spread surprisingly ordered. I should have taken a picture. It was some kind of quantum pattern of dispersal. Amazing. Lost forever now. The cats always enjoy when dust gets kicked up and ran around sniffing things as I placed them in the box.

There was a trash bag and a box bound for the attic. I tapped the box shut. It is a Dell box, sturdy for shipping computers. I nabbed several from work for just this very task. They were just going throw them out anyway. Hate it when something that useful goes to waist. I've blogged about hauling them home on the bus before. I always get some interesting glances, but no one seems to mind. The headache I woke with this morning is still around despite the aspirin and caffeine I've taken for it.

I had these grand plans of using smaller boxes to store the books and emptying the shelves of other clutter that has accumulated over the last ten twenty years. The shelves are not that old, but the crap on them is. It is mostly computer stuff and books and a bit of Nat's stuff that has not found its way to the attic yet.

The moment I picked up the box, I knew it was not going to make it in to the attic. I wrestled it out to the garage, pulled down the stairs, and looked back and forth from the box to the hole in the sealing with all the pointy bits aimed at my ribs. I walked over to the trash can, opened the lid and hefted the box of bricks in to the bin. "It fits." ... dusted my hands, closed the attic access and went inside to blog about the affair.