The movers arrived, so as well as nine bags of books I have 37 boxes. And a queen bed (man, they're huge
!), four tall solid wood shelves, a large flat computer desk and less-flat chair, nice speakers, and.. well, months of sorting and dusting. It feels more and more like home, albeit a home haunted by millions of dusty ghosts that need to be pieced through.
A few boxes are labelled "computer parts" but for the most part they are quite unhelpfully labelled "books". I say unhelpfully, because although they do contain books which are often categorically sorted, I utilized any spare space to place other unsortables.
So, picking box #17 ("books") at random hoping it had the Dresden books, I slit open the lid to find a nice bag protecting the inside. Good on me. Next is a men's plaid nightshirt in original packaging with sales label intact. Uhm. Then, my two copies of Darklands, the best CRPG ever. Cool, those count as books in my mind. Then an original box containing the original install floppies for IBM OS/2 2.0. Erm. Really? The copyright date is 1982, how on earth did I get my hands on these when I wasn't even in high school yet? And why in the world did I bother to save them? Dunno. Then the Lost Treasures of Infocom (want, epi_lj?). Only then did I hit books. Mostly math textbooks with a few fun ones like Maxwell's Electromagnetic treatises and three technical telephone books that would have made a phreaker drool in the late 70s. I know I drooled.
So the moral of the story is mixed. I did an excellent job of packing so nothing would shift around, but a horrific job of labelling. You probably do not want me to help you pack things. I certainly underappreciate my flaccid efforts.
I continue to be flabbergasted at how nice this apartment is turning out to be.