almostwitty

Decades ago, when I was a mere media student with dreams of doing something great, I used to stare lovingly at a huge coffee table book about the work of Industrial Light & Magic. Then one day, I saw it on sale at a discount bookshop, and grabbed it immediately despite being a poor student (though obviously not THAT poor if I could afford to waste it on a discounted heavy coffee table book).

Then for the next two decades, it’d follow me from room to flat to flat, down to London, across to Cardiff, North Wales, Manchester, and then back to London. And each time I struggled to lift the box that I’d put that book in, I’d curse its heaviness before eventually finding a place on a heaving bookshelf. Where it would stay, dusty and unread but peripherally loved, until the next move.

Earlier this year, in an Hyperbole-and-a-Half-style attempt at rationalising bits of my life and sorting stuff out, I listed it (amongst many many other things) on Amazon for sale.

Now someone’s bought it for £60 or so. And I’m sitting here putting off the decision to box and ship it, mostly because I don’t want to let it go, for purely selfish reasons. I’m never going to get round to reading it – the best I’ll do is coo at the pretty pictures. But it’s a huge hard heavy book, and really it ought to go to someone who’s willing to pay out £60 for it.

But I haven’t sent it yet. And now I’m getting nagging emails about it.

What would you do?

Mirrored from almost witty.