Another weekend, another book buying frenzy. I think I melted my check card today. Egad! I bought five new books! I haven't even read the books I bought last weekend. This is how you know you have a problem, folks. But I couldn't resist. Or, if I'm being honest, I didn't want to resist the siren call of crisp, sturdy new spines and the smell of the printed word. But just in case you think I've gone totally insane, some of the books were mega bargains.
You know you're addicted and a confirmed bibliomaniac when you have nothing to do on a Saturday, and you find your MINI and your feet taking you to three different bookstores. Three. One. Two. Three. I spent an hour and a half in Borders. Then about an hour in Barnes & Noble. Then about forty-five minutes in this fabulous half-price bookstore.
Yep. I'm addicted to books. I'm a bibliomaniac. I think I'm going to have to start a Bibliomaniacs Anonymous. "My name is X, and I'm a bibliomaniac." Then everyone can say, "Hi, X." I'm wondering what the twelve steps should be. Probably there only needs to be one step. A Golden Rule, if you will, that says you can't buy new books until you've read all the books you previously purchased. But the new books turn my head. And I NEEEEEED to own them. They must be mine. They will be mine. Precious. My precious. (She says in a creepy Gollum voice) I guess I'm just not ready to get help. Oh well.
I get such a thrill when I bring new books to my home and introduce them to my other books. Then I get to figure out which bookcase and on which shelf they should go. Then the books take on a new dimension when they have neighbor books. They become another piece of the puzzle that is me.
Since I'm not ready to get help for my bibliomania, I think I need to create some kind of portable list. Last week I bought a used copy of one of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum novels. Then when I went to put it on the shelf, I discovered I already owned a copy of that particular novel. Bugger. Then I felt kind of guilty for having promised my new copy a permanent home in my collection. So the book has been sitting on my kitchen table. All alone. Waiting to be returned. I feel like I have betrayed this book. I know, anthropomorphizing books is a crazy thing to do. But I anthropomorphize everything. I name my MINI, my iPod, my iBook, my cello. Everything has a name. You got a problem with that?
Getting back to the need for a list. I'm thinking I'll just write out a list of which books I have of certain authors that I'm just collecting. And then I'll write out a list of those books I need where I already have a bunch from that author. Sounds like a plan.
I'm going to the symphony tonight. I'm drinking tea to stay awake. But I'm going to stop drinking here in a few minutes. Otherwise I'll have to stumble over hoity-toity rich people during the concert. And it's being televised live on our local PBS station. I don't want my friends to call me tomorrow and tell me they saw me sit in some geezer's lap in my attempt to extricate myself from my row to go to the bathroom. Maybe I'll stop drinking now. Good idea.
Guess I'll go do something productive to get ready for tonight. Later!
You know you're addicted and a confirmed bibliomaniac when you have nothing to do on a Saturday, and you find your MINI and your feet taking you to three different bookstores. Three. One. Two. Three. I spent an hour and a half in Borders. Then about an hour in Barnes & Noble. Then about forty-five minutes in this fabulous half-price bookstore.
Yep. I'm addicted to books. I'm a bibliomaniac. I think I'm going to have to start a Bibliomaniacs Anonymous. "My name is X, and I'm a bibliomaniac." Then everyone can say, "Hi, X." I'm wondering what the twelve steps should be. Probably there only needs to be one step. A Golden Rule, if you will, that says you can't buy new books until you've read all the books you previously purchased. But the new books turn my head. And I NEEEEEED to own them. They must be mine. They will be mine. Precious. My precious. (She says in a creepy Gollum voice) I guess I'm just not ready to get help. Oh well.
I get such a thrill when I bring new books to my home and introduce them to my other books. Then I get to figure out which bookcase and on which shelf they should go. Then the books take on a new dimension when they have neighbor books. They become another piece of the puzzle that is me.
Since I'm not ready to get help for my bibliomania, I think I need to create some kind of portable list. Last week I bought a used copy of one of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum novels. Then when I went to put it on the shelf, I discovered I already owned a copy of that particular novel. Bugger. Then I felt kind of guilty for having promised my new copy a permanent home in my collection. So the book has been sitting on my kitchen table. All alone. Waiting to be returned. I feel like I have betrayed this book. I know, anthropomorphizing books is a crazy thing to do. But I anthropomorphize everything. I name my MINI, my iPod, my iBook, my cello. Everything has a name. You got a problem with that?
Getting back to the need for a list. I'm thinking I'll just write out a list of which books I have of certain authors that I'm just collecting. And then I'll write out a list of those books I need where I already have a bunch from that author. Sounds like a plan.
I'm going to the symphony tonight. I'm drinking tea to stay awake. But I'm going to stop drinking here in a few minutes. Otherwise I'll have to stumble over hoity-toity rich people during the concert. And it's being televised live on our local PBS station. I don't want my friends to call me tomorrow and tell me they saw me sit in some geezer's lap in my attempt to extricate myself from my row to go to the bathroom. Maybe I'll stop drinking now. Good idea.
Guess I'll go do something productive to get ready for tonight. Later!
