I've been packing my books today, packing them to go into storage until goodness knows when, and it evokes a kind of panic in me. Old favorites suddenly demand to be reread, and books that I bought and shelved without taking the time to read them (yes, this is a horrible habit of mine) have suddenly taken on an urgency.
For this reason, I'm taking a break from my Kindle (it gets to come with me, after all) and rediscovering the treasures I possess already. Jessica Mitford's Hons and Rebels is high on the list, as her sister's Love in a Cold Climate. The latter is an old favorite, the former I haven't read.
I feel like I'm in a race against time, trying to get all the words crammed into my brain that I can before they're backed away, mute and helpless. I know there will be more books, that I will see these books again, but the pangs I feel are terrible.