Feeling Naked and Forlorn

I've taken some things over to my new apartment. I can't move in for 3 more weeks (well, 2 weeks and 6 days, but who's counting?) ; the reason is because it's a brand-new building and the heating system won't be done till the end of February.

So what did I take? Clothes, shoes, purses. Some family pictures. I also took some books over:

Amish Society (4th Edition) by John Hostetler
Summer by Edith Wharton
A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by Betty Smith
Sickened by Julie Gregory
Choke by Chuck Palahniuk

I have a desk that has a little one-row bookshelf built in, so I don't have to either buy (or dumpster-dive) a bookshelf for a few weeks.

I purposely left half of my books behind for the remainder of my stay in Shanghai's apartment. I don't know why; I really don't need them, since Shanghai has plenty to read. (I'm currently enjoying her copy of The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan.) All I could think as I was stuffing books in my backpack for the trip to the new apartment was this: "I need some of my books here. I'll feel naked without my books." (In my mind, I was pronouncing 'naked' as 'nekkid', which to me, is even more naked than nay-ked.)

Here are the books that I kept here with me:
Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Teaching In Action (an ESL guide to troubleshooting in classrooms)
The Tightwad Gazette by Amy Dacyczyn

Intellectually, I know that I can live for 2 weeks and 6 days without those other books that are over in the apartment, but only 24 hours after leaving them there, I feel a vague uneasiness that could easily mushroom into queasiness.

"Do you think they'll be OK over there by themselves?" I asked Shanghai.

"What?"

"My books, in the apartment."

"Oh sure," said Shanghai. "They won't be lonesome; they've got each other for company. But," she added, "you might have to clean up after the party."