The one where I talk about why I would buy this book just for the cover.

I have a serious book buying problem. It’s bad. You know how most people make new year’s resolutions about losing weight or forgiving someone or stopping smoking? Well, every new year I make a silent promise to myself:

I will not buy any new books until I read all of the books I already own.

And then I walk into an indie bookstore or I get on amazon.com to buy beef jerky (seriously) and end up noticing a new book that looks really good is silently screaming “read me!” and I immediately think to myself, “One book couldn’t hurt.”

Like any good junky, I need my fix. One book turns into twenty and before long my bedside tables (yes, plural) where I keep all of my “to-read” books start to look like this:

It’s really a table, a bench, and a stool holding the to-reads. Clearly, this isn’t enough space because you can see the stack that I have sitting on the floor and behind the dual picture frame of my boys hides another stack of books. This picture really doesn’t do the whole thing justice because there are books all…over…our…house, not just in my bedroom. I’ve tried to get rid of some. I sent a box of paperbacks to a dear friend who I knew would read and love and appreciate each one. I use some to decorate with, place lamps on top of, that sort of thing. Books are a part of my home and always will be…because I can’t stop buying them.
I remember seeing my friend Kelly’s beautiful home for the first time. It was beautiful for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it was filled with books. So many that she had to build built-in bookshelves in almost every room to accommodate them all. My favorites were some floor to ceiling bookshelves in her kitchen with her round kitchen table right next to it. You could eat your cereal next to your favorite authors. I loved everything about it. It was like living in a beautiful bookstore.
Nothing makes me happier than a bookstore. I’ve tried to go digital. I have the kindle app on my iPad and I’ve read a few books on it, but when it comes down to it I just like real books better. I like the whole experience. Especially the book buying experience. I love going on vacation and looking to see if there is an indie bookstore anywhere nearby. If I had a secret superpower it would be to save all of the indie bookstore single-handedly so that no more bookstore would ever have to die.
Yesterday, Derek and I spent the day down in L.A. (which we rarely do even though he works down in L.A. and we live in a nearby suburb.) He asked me where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do. I thought of several things. We hadn’t been to The Getty in a while and I’ve yet to visit MOCA, The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles. Or we could have lunch down near the beach. All good options. Instead, I chose to go to Brentwood Country Mart because they have an indie bookstore, diesel, that I’ve never been to. Forget the fact that I had just been to our favorite indie bookstore and bought two new books that I didn’t need. And what do you think happened after I arrived at diesel? I bought two MORE books. Because that is what I do.
The funny part of the story is, I told Derek before we went that I wanted to refrain from buying any more books. I was just going to look, I told him. He laughed at me and said, “Babe, for you only going to look at books is like saying that you’re only going to look at a new puppy. You just can’t do it.”
He knows me so well. I also have a dog buying problem.
“One more dog couldn’t hurt.”

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