I came thisclose to missing this year’s huge used book sale. You know, the one that happens the last weekend in June every year? The one I usually talk up to everyone I meet? The one I usually invite people over for so they can be in town to go with me? I forgot about it. John and I were just going through the garage, looking for hazardous household waste to get rid of at the high school (the county has a contractor come by every couple of months for that sort of thing), and the book sale popped into my head. I kinda shouted “Oh, shit. The book sale!” as I ran for the computer to check the dates (yes, it’s that important to me), and from the garage I could hear John asking, “When is it?” with some concern. Yeah, it’s this weekend. Like right now. So we’ve put everything else on hold (everything else equals, um, not really anything since we weren’t doing anything and hadn’t made any plans – that’s interesting. Maybe subconsciously we knew the book sale was this weekend and deliberately left our schedule open.) and we’re going right now. I’m not prepared (I usually have lists), but I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we have and what I want. Not having a list means I’ll browse more. And that’s okay with me.