This weekend has been an unusual mix of sloth-like torpor and comfortably productive activity. Perhaps the latter was made possible by the former.

Evil Bookshelf (kinda like an evil giraffe, but less mobile)I went to bed on Friday night at 9 pm, and I would characterize the next 24 hours as one long nap interrupted by brief, and very unwelcome, periods of wakefulness. I nearly finished a sleeve Saturday night, went back to bed, and woke up refreshed.

So refreshed, in fact that, after prepping the 5 books I need to read in the next few days for electronic reading, I got all ambitious and decided to put together a bookshelf that’s been taunting me for the last few months. (Gimme a break, the taunting was very quiet. The bookshelf doesn’t have vocal chords. Or lungs.)

I understand now why I put it off. The thing is taller than me. And wider than it is tall. And heavier than…. Um, than someone who is 20 pounds lighter than me…. And it was a bitch to put together. I had to get angry and kick it at one point to get it square so I could drill the brackets into place.

But I won! I beat the inanimate object, and I beat it on my terms, one-on-one, without having to resort to following the directions*** that suggested a bookshelf of this size should not be assembled by one person.

Next up: putting stuff into the bookshelf. I might need another nap….

*Apologies to Dylan Thomas. And Shakespeare. And probably the cast of Dead Poets Society.**
**Or perhaps I’m thinking of the wrong Robin Williams movie, and he quotes that line in Good Will Hunting. Screw it, not important enough to look up.
***Directions are for people who like their limbs intact and unbruised. Sissies….