The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes

So far I have packed up all my classics books (original-language and grammar; scholarship and translations remain in the dining room), poetry, scripts and screenplays, biographies, anthologies, and paperback fiction A–F inclusive. There are eleven boxes in rushthatspeaks and gaudior's spare room already and ten more boxes waiting here to move. That only leaves everything else, including all the hardcovers, my publications and the greater portion of the nonfiction. I'm estimating about sixty boxes this time, media included, but it might turn out to be more. I'm just remembering it was about fifty last time and that was in 2013.

I'm leaving out a small stack of books I am in the middle of reading and/or books I wanted to re-read as they went by: so far it consists of Ray Monk's Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius (1990), Jane Yolen's Neptune Rising: Songs & Tales of the Undersea Folk (1982), and the 1899 Doubleday edition of Rudyard Kipling's Ballads and Barrack-Room Ballads that still has the left-facing swastika stamped on the cover.

I need more boxes.