cellini's Diaryland Diary

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This was all so much easier when we were teenagers.

Today I had to go way out into the far, rural reaches of the county to buy books from an elderly couple who are moving to a retirement home in a month. Their dog bit me but did not draw blood. There was nothing special. I only took five boxes out. Some art books, architecture, a mixture of things that I'll sell for $7.50 to $12.00. Barely worth doing, to be honest.

The route back would take me near Trish's place so I stopped in the nearest town and bought a bouquet of flowers, which I attempted to deliver to her front porch before she returned home from work. Too late. I saw her next door out in front of her parents' place, both of them also outside. I pulled up by her cabin and she met me as I walked up from the car, out of their view. I gave her the bouquet, explained that I was in the neighborhood to buy books and had to head straight back to the store before 6 pm when my people would close the store if I'm not back, and kissed her, Then I left. She said she'd see me tomorrow and looked happy.

I wonder what her parents asked about my presence. As far as I know, our families don't know that we are dating, other than our children having a pretty good idea. People are going to flip the fuck out. My parents have not said anything, and I don't think that my mother would be able to resist.

We sold around $530 in books today. Which, by the old standard, is pretty fucking amazing for a Wednesday. That used to be a really good Saturday. Everything is hitting. A first edition, later printing of The Naked Lunch went for $40. Someone bought $70 worth of the Bronte sisters in those big, stupid American Heritage slipcase editions which I had just put out the day before. Usually booksellers get super precious about those and try to price them at $12 to $20 each. I paid a dollar each for them yesterday and they are too tall for the general hardback fiction shelves. I suddenly have enough of those American Heritage things from a few different collections that I bought that I made a section for them, priced them at $8.50 to $9.50 each. At $16 each, someone would begrudgingly buy one and feel pissed off when they do. I would rather price them low and get people carried away so they find themselves with a whole stack of them at the desk. Sure, I could sell them all at $16 each over the next three years. Fuck that. I want to sell them now and delight people and get less money quickly. I can always get more books. There is a huge wave of babyboomers moving to retirement homes, doing death cleaning or actually dying and I can get their books for fifty cents to a dollar a piece just by being willing to make house calls and deal with the thousands of books that they spent a lifetime collecting and suddenly need gone immediately. I want to sell awesome books pretty cheap, take the money, and use the empty space to put more inventory out. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The other used book stores here are just sort of confused by what is happening. None of them will make house calls because they are all owned by people in their 70's or older. In exchange for being willing to drive a lot and carry heavy boxes, I'm getting my pick of really great books, building collections better than anyone else's, selling them for at least a third less than any other store is, and pushing revenue way up. They are selling things like, say, a Tashen art book in mint condition that originally sold for $55 for $26. I will sell that shit immediately for $12 because I was willing to drive an hour away and take everything and only I paid a dollar for it. And I got 8 or 9 boxes of books on that run.

I am still only paying myself $800 a week for about 80 hours of work. I want to see the book store's bank account pushed way up before I start giving more to myself. Taking Trish out to nice restaurants is literally my biggest weekly expense. I don't do much for myself. A couple of concert or so a week, at most. A lot of takeout because I am always working. I don't have time to spend money on myself. I ordered the two This Mortal Coil albums that I don't already own today, plus a Bat for Lashes album that will go over well in the store with my people.

I think that part of what Trish has been falling back in love with is me in the store with my people. It is like an old French literary salon. A stream of people come through to talk to me. They sit in the chairs arranged for them, and my employees and volunteers hang out and we discuss literature and history and art and design and science. They come calling at the court and I am the owner, the man who constantly creates D@edalus anew, doing carpentry by night and obtaining rare books by day, he who occupies the office. Daniel in the Sandman universe, with more intent.

I am being extraordinarily patient with her. We're just now at the sudden kiss goodbye point.

I see her as she is and as she was and how she will be. As she is would be to the eyes of most men a short middle-aged woman whose hands have begun to wrinkle, with an ill-defined midsection, a dull wardrobe and a boring job at a library. To me, I still see the curvy 19 year old who seduced me at 17. I see the woman who birthed my children and whose stretch marks were always beautiful to me. I see the woman who left me out of what could have been the best 14 years of our lives together. I see a woman that I love. I am so thrilled and baffled and grateful that she suddenly changed her mind and was willing to attempt something utterly unexpected.

I will not fuck this up. I know how to do everything right now and I will not fuck this up. I will continue to buy her flowers just for the hell of it, and I will take her out for dinner, and I will bring her gifts and listen to her talk about her day and not interrupt and keep my phone in my pocket. And I really want to go down on her again because I am very good at bringing her to orgasm again and again and her labia are how labia are supposed to be and her nipples are how nipples are supposed to be shaped and I just love her and want to be inside of her again and I miss her so much. Because I want to go home. Trish is home. She is my wife and she is home and I am totally committed to not doing anything wrong.

While knowing that sometimes you can do everything exactly right and they still leave. But I'm gonna know that I didn't fuck up.

It is really hard, when I hold her and kiss her for a moment before we part, to prevent myself from saying, "I love you," It is breathing out of me. I want to kiss her ear and tell her how much I love her and I know that I mustn't because it is too soon to be back there.

This was all so much easier when we were teenagers.

3:03 a.m. - 2024-06-13

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