I have a reading problem. When the new Borders opened five minutes from my house, I quipped to my father in law that “it is almost like opening up a crack house next door to a crack addict.” My credit card would agree.
When I teased a friend because I discovered she knows her credit card number by heart, I admitted, “the only number I know by heart is my library card number.” Yes, sadly, now she can make even more fun of me.
I get antsy when I do not have a book to read. It does not matter if I may not have the time to actually read the book. I just have to know that a book is available just in case I can get to it. I also never travel anywhere without a book tucked into my bag. One of my greatest fears is being stuck somewhere, sometime without something to read. I even keep a book in my desk drawer at work.
When we go on vacation, I have to pack a book for each day of the trip. And one for each plane ride. But, if it’s a super long plane ride, then I have to pack two. Just in case.
It’s beyond an addiction. I need Bookaholic’s Anonymous. The first step is admitting you need help, right?
(To continue on with this random of nothingness, right now I am reading this and this. I just finished this, this and this. I have this and this waiting for me to read. I would also like to read this , this and this.)
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