The TMI Files. Tears Before Bedtime.I'm fighting off the tears here, and it's got nothing to do with Christmas, or Magilla being away until Christmas Day.
It does, however, have plenty to do with God working in mysterious ways.
In a previous incarnation, I studied as a beauty therapist. I completed the course, but never actually went into practice as one.
I did, however stick with the massage and makeup areas, and have quite a bit of experience in the latter.
I've done a gazillion weddings and formals, and a heap of filmwork. (I specialise in making people look like they've had the crap beaten out of them lol).
I am also a voracious reader, although these days it tends to be blogs rather than books, and I've got a pretty decent library.
Well, I did have a pretty decent library until about the last week or two.
As we're no longer in Bogan Central, the house is structured differently (duh! stating the obvious).
The garage is below ground level, and the house is situated on a hillside. In front of the garage door is a drainage channel, which hasn't been handling the recent
So the garage has flooded several times in the last fortnight.
Once may be a random happening, but every time it rains?
Yesterday I was out in the rain up to my elbows in muck cleaning out the channel; I was sick of the water, and worried about my books.
I have my vinyl records down there, too, as I've not got the space to keep them in the house, but I wasn't so worried about those.
Today, I went looking for my collection of Bone comics. I've got almost the whole set, with the majority of those in mint. I started reading and got up to #8 then decided to wait until I had them all.
I'm still waiting.
I've also been saying for yonks that I should cull my books so that I could have more space, and it would make it easier for the next time I move.
The cull has now begun.
I've got at least two full boxes that will have to be turfed, as they are just destroyed by the water.
This includes my Guinness Book of Records books, and a heap of my cookbooks.
I have a lot of cookbooks. Like around 40 or so.
Not any more.
It includes plenty of fiction - hardcover as well as softcover - but luckily my Stephen King has survived.
Not my Corson.
I have the 1990 edition of the makeup artist's bible, and it's my pride and joy.
It's also now waterlogged halfway up the pages, and if there were nobody in the house at the moment, I'd be filling the bin up with tissues.
I think it's safe to say I've been gutted. This is not just a book, this is my Corson!
There are no words to adequately explain the impact this is having on me at the moment, and the analytical corner of my brain is having a field day with this. After all, it's a book. A conglomerate of pages and print, from which the literate ones among us can read and draw information.
And I can always buy another one.
But that's not the point.
I was so excited when I bought it nearly 10 years ago; it's always been handled with kid gloves, better than just about any other book I've got.
I've got plenty other makeup books and magazines, and any number of books I use for reference, but none has the weight (both figurative and literal) of my Corson.
Well, that's my library culled.
I just wish the bloody water had been more discriminating.
Take more cookbooks.
Just give me back my Corson.