Killspeak

My desk, a few days ago:

Since, the tangle of wires has been thinned some, thanks in part to a working wireless card; the most urgent bills, the ones buried deepest under the desk-toys and scribbled notes, have been paid; and the dishes spotted with cheese made their way to the sink soon after I found them under a pile of shirts I was to put away.

It is the books—four of which can be seen in the photo—that give me the most trouble. I have too many of them, and a bad habit of buying more before I’ve finished the ones I’ve already begun. (I am convinced that, it being summertime, I have ample time to make my way through all the titles I’ve jotted down over the past months, and so, shortly after my paycheck hits, I find myself waiting in line for a cashier at a bookstore. It’s only when I get back home, when I see the small piles on my dresser and on the floor, that I realize how quickly I’ve been accruing books—and lament how short the summer is.) My shelves are already packed. The papers can be shredded and recycled, the dishes washed, the clothes folded, but where do I put the books?

Earlier this afternoon, my mother phones in a solution. It’s from Ikea, you see. It’s on sale.