spent three days digging thru my father's antiquarian collection, the accumulated silt of thirty-plus years between the covers of the book business piled up to ceilings sagging above the weight of these timeless tomes. eyes spent and watering from hours at the screen: one of life's ironies, bibliophiles forced to make their livings staring at quivering electronic screens instead of the soft skins of paper they adore. at times i wonder if it's worth it all. if i wouldn't have a better appreciation for books if I was homeless and drunk in La Honda or Big Sur or even Yakima. But I suppose these thoughts burn daylight, and there are always more books.