I am a book-aholic.
I am. I admit it. And I don't want to go to recovery meetings. I'm enjoying it way too much for that! I have a passion for books. I read constantly. I always have at least five books on the go. For example, right now I'm reading: The Outstretched Shadow (again), Inkspell (with son 1), A Little Princess (with son 2), Reefsong (with DH), Sexual Recovery (haven't gotten around to finishing yet), Reflexology For Dummies, Self Matters, and probably a few more that I've forgotten.
It all depends on the day.
I have, oh, I'd say, probably around 350 books. I have six tall bookshelves and they are overflowing. Books are piled on my piano (usually the ones I'm reading). Spilling out and into DH's side of the shelves on the bed. There are books on top of the refridgerator and on the toilet tank. Tucked between the cushions on the couch. I'd have to say that there are very few rooms in this house where there isn't at least one book hiding.
I've read most of them too. Perhaps 7/8ths of them. I can point out exactly which ones I haven't. And many of them I've read more than once. I'm pretty sure that in my 35 years, I've read over a thousand books. After all, I can't keep library books! :-)
Books are like old and dear friends in times of trouble. They steal you away to a world of magic or a place where your problems become forgotten in the midst of some hero's instead. They never leave you. The transform the ordinary to the extraordinary. The can make you laugh and cry. Touch your soul. Change your mind about something. They can give you legs or wings, if you want them! Truly, the pen is mightier than the sword.
Books have been my help in times of need. My comfort. My escape. My source of knowledge. I still say, "Read 'The Blue Castle' by L.M. Montgomery and you'll know who I am," when I want someone to gain insight into what my life was like at home.
I am a book-aholic. And I am proud of it.
