I never found Fahrenheit but I found an autographed copy of The Illustrated Man. I nearly gave it away.

I just finished reading The Illustrated Man earlier this week. To think that you not only have an autographed copy, but you very nearly gave it away! I’m almost having an anxiety attack on your behalf.

I’ve also been going through a minimalist phase (except maybe it’s not just a phase — it doesn’t feel like a phase) and wanting to rid myself of my unnecessary belongings. A lot of it is just a desire to reduce clutter, but part of it is rooted in wanting to be less materialistic.

I find myself staring at my shelf of Funko bobbleheads and thinking to myself, why exactly did I buy those?

I dig though my closet and find my old three-ring binder full of Pokemon cards. I find the trumpet I played in middle school band (if you can call what I did playing and not just noise-making) and which I haven’t touched in fifteen years, and I think, why do I still have these things?

But my books are my sole possessions that, thankfully, I’ve never been tempted to part with.

In college, I had an English professor who told us he was in the market for a house, but he had to make sure the foundations were sound. He owned so many books that their collective weight was a factor in choosing which house to buy. We laughed, and he assured us that he was not joking — and then told us that when he moved from Kansas to Georgia, the cost of shipping all those books was about the cost of a used car.

If I ever have that many books, I might need to rethink my stance on pruning my collection. Until then, I’ll just keep hoarding words.


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