I wish I didn’t have to say what I was addicted to, but I feel it may help you – the reader – understand me better.
And look, it’s either that or plug one end of a jumper cable into my brain and the other end to the base of your neck, something that I’m sure will probably result in pain and no mind transferrance.
Regardless, this is my first addiction post.
Here we go. Ahem.
Hi. My name is Leigh and despite being as random as my title slogan, I am addicted to books.
I am utterly, completely, ridiculously engrossed in the nature of what the printed word is. I cannot survive without text on paper, image on glossy. I fall in love with titles and subjects and footnotes and epilogues every time I see them because I am addicted to books.
I collect them so I can educate others with them. I read them. As of right now, I am 26 and have easily over 200 books. They’re in a shelf or in the homes of friends, in their hands being read or collecting beams of light as they grace the presence of my otherwise chaotic desk.
I’m in the process of writing them, too. Not for money or fame, but because there are stories in my head that I want to get out, that I need to get out because if I don’t, my sanity really is brought into question. And I’m more unsure of that than ever lately.
This evening I bought a book because the cover struck me. It’s called “The Insult”. I know they say not to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes you can. Sometimes the spine and the index and the page corners just speak out to you, a vertical yell that screams “BUY ME DAMNIT!” and then only a few minutes later, you’re several dollars shorter with yet another piece for your already sinking shelf.
I can fix that with another shelf. I can fix that with a box. I can fix that with a stack under my table staring at me and just waiting for me to accidentally kick it in my sleep so that it topples and spreads everywhere.
I could also fix it by lessening my addiction, removing it from the equation and making it so that I wasn’t addicted to books.
Or I couldn’t. And shouldn’t. Removing that part of me would be like removing my heart, and that is something I’m not likely to do.
I am addicted to books and I love it. I really do.