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Stuff, part 1

April 15, 2008

During our house hunting phase, DH and I visited a home chock full of books. Boxes of paperbacks lined the walls, squeezed in between shelves of books stacked two deep. Mostly science fiction paperbacks, a few romances. There were too many for me to remember any one title.

At first I found it endearing. It’s nice to meet a fellow book-lover. But as we toured the home, and found not a single book-free space, I grew more and more ill. Matt and I left, and we looked at each other. He waited for me to say it.

“This is going to be me in thirty years,” I said. “What am I going to do? How am I going to prevent myself from becoming like that?”

In the years since then, we have acquired more books and more bookshelves. And I’m not done, I know. I feel less guilt over buying books than I do over any other type of splurge. And every book I bring into my house is hard for me to let go of. My son is the same way. His school had a book exchange, and he wanted me to buy a book so he could exchange it. I told him to go through his books and choose one, but he couldn’t. He loves them all. So do I.

So.. we need to buy ourselves another bookshelf sometime here. And maybe, maybe, we will allow my high school biology textbook and its similar friends to go live at DI. If not, we will end up like that book-laden house–the presence of so many books cluttering every available space would leave me too paralyzed to do anything but read.

Would that be such a bad thing, now?

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