So, I’ve realized what really makes buying new books addictive…well, for me, that is.
Books are my drug of choice. One of the things I love most is anticipating the arrival of a new book—or several—from wherever I’ve ordered them. Or the anticipation of knowing that I’m going to visit my favorite used bookstore, and that I know when I’m there, the smell of books will overtake me, leaving me quite insensate about the stack of books with which I might abscond. Like I said, I’m addicted.
Then, of course, there’s the joy of seeing rows of books I’ve finished, nice and orderly on their respective shelves (I have different ones for different genres, you see), not to mention the stacks and shelves of books I have yet to read.
There are also other joys: escapism, learning new things, walking around in another’s shoes for just a little while, looking up words I don’t know or ideas of which I have never heard. Even more fun is knowing, thanks to science, that we don’t only read about a character’s experiences, our brain lives them.
So, then, I suppose that means I’ve lived many lives as a reader…all the more joy for me!
The “Completed” Shelf
The British History Shelf
The Shakespeare Shelves
The OTHER Shakespeare Shelf
Buying books IS an addiction, one I share, and there doesn’t seem to be a good recovery program for it, either. And why is it that once you finally decide to part with a book to make room for a new one, that’s the very book you want/need a few weeks later?
This post of yours reminded me of the “old me who couldn’t spend a day without reading”. I loved buying books too but I must admit there were any left aside 😀