I’ve been settled into my swinging bachelor hole for a little over a year now. But, no joke, one of the first things I unpacked was my books. I was reminded of this a couple weeks back, after I picked-up a new shelf for my Ravenloft collection and began re-reorganizing my gaming books.

Dishes and the like were actually first thing to be unpacked, as I was able to get those brought over earlier along with the boxes of fragile goods. (And assembled Lego sets.) But once the moving truck had departed and I was left standing completely alone in a box-filled basement suite, I dug out my Playstation, threw on the Lord of the Rings extended cut, and set to work on my bookshelves. The bedroom was in disarray, all my bathroom supplies were just in a heap, my computer was a mass of cables, and my clothes were just heaped in laundry hampers for the move. But my books were all happily sorted alphabetically by author and my gaming books carefully grouped into the books I used, the books I wanted to display, and the books I could just keep stored in bankers boxes in the corner of my room.

I think it was for reasons of comfort. Sorting books was easy and simple, and fed into a primal need for order in my librarian brain. It was familiar. Which was desperately needed while chin-deep in an ocean of unfamiliarity and uncertainty.