It’s a tough life being a bookaholic. Really, it is. I could argue that the amount of books I own makes me worldly and that it expands my intellectual horizons as well as my vocabulary, but the truth is, I buy more books in a year than I can read in five. I made a New Years Resolution to stop buying books and to read one a week, which, if I stop buying now, I’ll finish all the books in my collection by the year 2023. I bought a book on January 3rd. I’m sure I’ll get around to it…I have six copies of The Catcher in the Rye. Not because I’m a huge Holden Caulfield fan, or even an extreme fan of J.D. Salinger. Although I’ve read the book five times, and think that Holden would be an okay guy to hang around for a while – hell, I can even empathize with his cynicism sometimes – I have no inclination to assassinate either of the remaining two Beatles and blame it on poor Holden. He’s only fictional, after all. No, the reason I have six copies of The Catcher in the Rye is simple: the dimensions of the book are perfect.
But enough about my homicidal tendencies and spatial preferences – back to the books: I buy every book that Oprah Winfrey tells me to buy, anything that has a pretty cover or a cute author. And as for supporting my addiction, I ration out the money from my paycheck. Rent is important, and of course the electricity bill (I’ve tried reading with a flashlight, but I got a major cramp in my wrist), and I’ll even feed myself to get through the month, but my bookaholicism disrupts my ability to function in my daily routine. I wouldn’t call it a real “ism” if it didn’t. I’m serious here.
Buying books surely isn’t along the same lines as losing your life savings at a casino or drinking your life away at the Drink ‘n Drown. Of all addictions, it seems to be the most acceptable, but maybe that’s because the only “people” who know about my addiction are Spotty, Dottie Blotty, and Stripes. Call me the crazy cat lady all you want, but I prefer WELL-READ crazy cat lady. When I come home to my girls with a fresh hardcover book, crack open to the first page, and start reading, they purr like a Shelby Cobra on race day.
Granted, my kitties get a little tired of the daily routine, and are getting more and more annoyed at the lack of space to lounge in my apartment. It is a bachelor loft (it was either the Harry Potter Collector’s Edition or the deposit for a one-bedroom suite… an easy decision for me). But I think it’s finally time to pick my book collection up off the floor, sofa, kitchen counter, sofa bed and the edge of my bathtub and get myself a roomy bookshelf from www.morebookcases.com . That way, I can keep up the book buying, while my furry friends can finally spread their fluffy selves out on the floor.As for my six copies The Catcher in the Rye, I’ve already decided – they will make perfect bookends on my new bookshelf.
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