(no subject)

So it turns out that this thing where you're at work for seven hours and then you get home and you write for two more hours is kind of hard. Wow, who'd have thought?

Rites of Passage

It had to happen eventually: I weeded a book I really, really liked (David Levithan's "The Realm of Possibility"). Not because it looked like a dog ate it, and then left it out in the rain; just because we had three copies, and it wasn't circulating well enough to justify having three copies.

Two might be okay. I'll pretend two is okay, at least till next year.

I normally attack weeding with pretty good cheer, because a dated book (or even a dated-looking one) that doesn't look as if it wants to be checked out doesn't reflect well on the shelf as a whole, but sometimes you wish you could justify keeping them.

I am humbled by the short lifespan of even quite good books.