I’m an addict.
There I said it. I’m an addict and I don’t care
I’m addicted to books, but I am in a pickle. It seems I have accumulated books faster than I can read. I’ve got about a dozen and a half books just waiting me to crack them open and bask in the stories, histories, sciences, and the like.
I had planned to read all the books I had lying around the house and on my e-reader, but ,,, I had to get more. I saw a special on PBS about the atomic bomb and realizing I didn’t know anything on the topic, bought Richard Rhodes “The Making of the Atomic Bomb” and then I picked up a couple of Robert E. Howard stories (not just Conan) and decided I wanted to know more about his work so picked up a reader. Did you know there have been several authors of Conan novels?
So here I am up to my hips in Conan stuff, atomic bomb stuff, and all the while my other books are laying around. Don Quixote is on the bureau, several Louis L’amour in my office, Panzer Leader by Guderian is shouting from the bookcase, assorted mysteries in every room, mad James Joyce Ulysses is calling me out from the night stand.
The books are everywhere and the guilt mounts. The only place I can go to get away from all the stress is the bookstore or library.
Then it happens all over again; a new distraction, a new path, and three new books.
This time I’m going to do it for sure. All the books in my house – done. One after another. Unless of course something …
I’m an addict.