After moving the big ugly bookcase out of the bedroom and back into the office, I decided it would be a good time to see if my claim to have a couple hundred books was a lie. The easy thing to do would have been to count them as I put them away. That would have been simple. Instead, I also figured now was a good time to inventory everything. That's right, I made a spreadsheet of my books. It only took me about an hour and a half. I didn't organize it according to fiction/nonfiction or entertainment/edification. I should have. I probably will later. The last time the books were rearranged, they were grouped that way on the shelf. They still almost are but trying to keep track of that while listing them according to author/title was more than I felt like undertaking.
Anyway. Now I hate the bookcase even more because I'm seeing AGAIN all the gouges in it from the cats clawing it. Dumb cats. They only claw it because they can't read.
This is what I want:
I'm not picky.