Horrifyingly we are in the process of moving again. Since filling out my records for the new job I realise I have moved six times in the last ten years. We'll be doing it twice in the next six months, although only packing and unpacking once and storing the stuff in between times.
But this is the problem. All my books will be in boxes, stored in a shed somewhere where I am not.
How will I be able to maintain my personality when all my lovely books are hidden from view? How will I keep myself whole without walls of words to browse from? Oh yes, there's always the library. But those books, however full of satisfaction between their covers, are not mine. Any old person can invent themselves using those books. And library books run out so quickly; as soon as you get them home they are nearly finished (just like ice-cream, Belgian chocolate and conversation with old friends you haven't seen for a while).
This is starting to become a serious reason for buying a house. If all my books could live somewhere safe and secure (even without built-in-bookshelves) I think I could expend a lot more of my energy on such things as a career, writing, being a good mother and so on. This constant worrying about packing books into boxes, unpacking books out of boxes, and finding a house large enough to fit books, boxes and bookshelves into is absorbing too much of my power for good.
It's either that or get rid of the books, I suppose. Of course, if I hadn't spent all that money on books in the first place I'd probably have enough saved up to buy a house, even at current inflated prices. Or perhaps I could build a house out of books, and invite Kevin McCloud from Grand Designs to come and follow the project. I'm sure if I could only find a way of waterproofing the outside a house of books would be very comfortable, well insulated and quiet. The jackets could face inwards to make the process of interior design easy as well.