Sometime last weekend I finished the book I was reading and set out to find another one. I checked all of our shelves of books and the places where where books get left even though they shouldn't. I had read them all. I continued to search and discovered a box of books that had not been unpacked – since we moved to Mexico.
I was kinda surprised to find the sealed box clearly labeled books. Another sign that we have too much stuff. It must have gotten shoved in a closet after the first move, and then made the trip to our new house when the movers came to pick everything up. Here is where I have to embarrassingly admit that only the necessities got unpacked after our most recent move. Another indication that we have too much stuff. This summer was just to darn hot to consider unpacking and moving things around.
I opened the box in great anticipation, only to be disappointed as I started to paw through it that I had read these, too. But then, as I removed books, I found that I had only read the ones on top and discovered a whole trove of unread treasures. The contents of the box appeared to be mostly a bunch that we had picked up off the Half Price Books dollar rack before we moved. I reached in and grabbed a volume at random: an old Robert Heinlein. Cool. Starship Troopers is one of my all-time faves.
I took my prize with me to the bedroom to lie down, read a little, and consider having a nap. I opened the cover and was greeted with the distinct perfume of aged book. This particular edition was published in the mid 60s, so the scent was expected and familiar and a little comforting. Fifteen minutes later I was absolutely miserable.
My face was itchy; my throat was itchy; it was hard to breathe. I stopped to consider the cause of my discomfort. I was holding it in my hands. Not only was the book old, which is not a crime, but it had spent three years in a cardboard box in a ridiculously humid environment. Who knows what kind of molds it is harboring. I had just spent the last 15 minutes with it right in front of my face inhaling its essence. Well crap. The itch and discomfort quickly progressed into a deep chest infection with fever, congestion, and a torturous, liquid cough. I feel like I am getting my air metered out in miserly sips. Just walking to the bathroom leaves me winded.
I am on all the regular drugs for this type of illness, but the best thing in the arsenal is Cepacaína lozenges. They have benzocaine in them and do a fabulous job of making everything delightfully numb, which will stop a coughing fit dead. I highly recommend them. The only thing is they come in sleeves that look and feel for all the world like condoms. It makes me giggle every time I open a pack.
Now I am mourning my lost treasures – all the books in that box that I don't dare read. I will visit the library to console myself when I am sure I am no longer contagious. I have already shared this malady with Chuck, and I don't really want to release it outside of our house. In the meantime I am sick and miserable and back where I started – with nothing to read.
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