I love books; I buy them by the truckload. I go up to New York City specifically to visit used bookstores. When I was eleven, I fell off a library stool, holding a stack of library books. People thought it was funny that I still had the books firmly cradled in my arms, while I lay on my back, stunned from the fall. I should’ve known right then.
Loving and procuring books has been a life-long obsession. And it’s only gotten worse now that I have disposable income. I go to book sales with the same crazed-eye look that brides get when they line up for those annual wedding gown blowouts. My boyfriend has set a book budget for me so that I will still have money for food at the end of the month. I react the same way to favorite authors that teenage girls react to Justin Timberlake (albeit, sans the high-pitched screaming). These are all signs that at the age of 23, I have become a full-blown bookaholic.
Like any other addiction, the user pays an heavy price – I can’t seem to go through most weeks without purchasing a book or at least paying a visit to a bookstore. I am constantly wracked by nightmares about friends who are creasers, children with sticky fingers, and dust. I have seen the look of fear on my boyfriend’s face when he returns a book to me in less than mint condition. I’ve considered the possibility of breaking off with good friends just because they show a slight tendency to borrow books with no intention of reading or returning them. My family complains that I love my books more than them.
It’s not pretty, but it’s my life.
Are you a bookaholic? If so share what you’re reading, your odd habits, funny stories, or misadventures in the pursuit of the next good read.Powered by Sidelines