This is the stage I was at when I stopped for the evening:
Eleven boxes unpacked, and most put away.
This is the leftovers (box of cookbooks not shown. Also, how did I get so damn many cookbooks? I didn't even really cook until I moved to Chez Peepee):
Sorting out what was to stay and what was to go was simple and difficult at the same time. I mean, I know I don't need the copy of Fighting for Your Marriage that my therapist thought I needed. Clearly, that marriage is long over, and a similar situation is not likely to happen anytime soon.
Also, I have embraced being an atheist, and can safely toss all the books on meditation and spirituality that I bought when I was often asked to speak at faith-based events and lead devotionals (looking back: what the hell were those people thinking?).
I can also toss all the books I bought at yard sales, etc. for under a dollar and never was able to get into.
Some books, however, are still sitting in a to-be-determined pile. While it's unlikely that I will ever get around finishing Hobbes' Leviathan, it's handy to have around, both for making me look brainy and for squashing bugs. Plus, the Enlightenment, and indeed, most of the 18th century is my favourite period in history. I never know when I will want to look up some sort of obscure quote to support my drunken argument.
Same for my collected works of Sir Walter Scott. Who knows? Tomorrow, I may take a study break and decide that 18th century poetry (again with the 18th century! Sensing a theme?) is just what I need.