Wiktory! (in minimus)
Jul. 25th, 2010 02:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceHow does an elephant get up a forty-foot elm tree?
He jumps, from a fifty-foot elm tree.
Daunty things can be outmanoeuvred, by tackling jobs even more daunty.
I have this little telephone table, that for several years now has been nowhere near any of the phones (the table didn't move, the phone cable did). Nevertheless the table hung on to its accumulation of Yellow Pages and other directories, its dead biros and broken pencils, its pieces of snooker chalk and name-badges and other detritus. Being a flat surface that held still, it also acquired - of course! - a ridiculous tower of books. I've been looking at it for years, thinking "I really should do something about that..."
After tackling the whole dining-room? Easy. The teenagers dealt with the books, and shifted the table. I have now cleared everything else. Thrown most of it, either into the recycling or the bin. Kept the biros for testing, the pencils for sharpening. Not much else. Now I shall wipe down the table and secrete it in a remote corner of the dining-room, where it can hold one of the phones and generally serve as a recharging station for laptops, batteries and whatever else. No doubt it will also resume its career as a slow acquirer of kibble, but hey. Right now, it is utterly clear and I am proud.
All this would go much faster, mind, if I had a pack of teenagers to help. Reshelving is kinda fun, but weary work.
Also? I recant. In a previous post I seem to have hinted at the nebulous possibility of dispossessing myself of books. Shan't, won't. Can't. They're my books.
He jumps, from a fifty-foot elm tree.
Daunty things can be outmanoeuvred, by tackling jobs even more daunty.
I have this little telephone table, that for several years now has been nowhere near any of the phones (the table didn't move, the phone cable did). Nevertheless the table hung on to its accumulation of Yellow Pages and other directories, its dead biros and broken pencils, its pieces of snooker chalk and name-badges and other detritus. Being a flat surface that held still, it also acquired - of course! - a ridiculous tower of books. I've been looking at it for years, thinking "I really should do something about that..."
After tackling the whole dining-room? Easy. The teenagers dealt with the books, and shifted the table. I have now cleared everything else. Thrown most of it, either into the recycling or the bin. Kept the biros for testing, the pencils for sharpening. Not much else. Now I shall wipe down the table and secrete it in a remote corner of the dining-room, where it can hold one of the phones and generally serve as a recharging station for laptops, batteries and whatever else. No doubt it will also resume its career as a slow acquirer of kibble, but hey. Right now, it is utterly clear and I am proud.
All this would go much faster, mind, if I had a pack of teenagers to help. Reshelving is kinda fun, but weary work.
Also? I recant. In a previous post I seem to have hinted at the nebulous possibility of dispossessing myself of books. Shan't, won't. Can't. They're my books.