Black and white and read all over (or not)

My nose is full of dust. I've had some huge sneezes, my ribs are aching. This is because I've been kneeling in the hallway in Susie's house, putting books into carrier bags. Books she doesn't want, and which she is hoping to sell to a man tomorrow, so she can make space for some of her own books which she's buying back from her publisher at a low price, before they go out of print, which is called 'remaindering', and which is apparently something that happens to all authors. I said to Susie that if that's true, then it's nothing to do with her, really, just the way of the world, and she shouldn't be annoyed about it, or whatever, but her eyes went cold and she said 'ha!' and plopped more carrier bags down in front of me. I think she's a bit fed up, because for her its personal, as if she'd made cakes nobody wanted to eat, or grown tomato plants that never produced tomatoes or something. Also, she says, she hates books sometimes, and she never would have imagined herself feeling like that, as if they were just old bricks littering the place, instead of the magical individual worlds books can be and should be.

Anyway. Because we've spent most of the morning doing stuff about making space and sorting through shelves and piles, she's now flopped on the floor, stretching. I can hear her sighing. Like having a huge tea kettle in the next room. It's very dusty lying down there. Maybe I should go and hoover round her.