This blog was originally supposed to be about books, but I realized I haven’t written about books in a while.
That’s because my books have recently started to make me feel guilty.
See, I am very bad at finishing books. I start one, read half of it, and pick up another one. So on New Year’s, I came up with this great Master Plan: I told myself “No buying new books until you finish EVERY half-finished book already on your shelf!”
Well, it worked just dandy at first. I diligently grabbed a few books from the top of the stack and took them on a long bus trip to New York. I even resisted buying a single book during a several-hours-long trip to The Strand (oh man). Bam bam bam.
Then I went home and accidentally bought a new book. Or three. I felt terrible. So as soon as I read them, I checked out an entire tote bag of books from the library. After all, the library is free! So those don’t count as “new books.” Right?
So now my tote bag was bulging accusingly next to my tower of Books To Finish.
Last night, quivering in my bed, alternately staring down the tote bag and the tower of doom, and finally becoming too paralyzed with guilt and indecision to read anything…I grabbed a book I’ve already read off my shelf. That’s right, I started re-reading an old favorite. What unproductive blasphemy!
Well, harrumph. I am not in college anymore, Dorothy. I don’t have to read a damn thing I don’t want to. If I didn’t finish those dozen books, there was no doubt a Very Good Reason for each (some were too boring, some were too long, and none were juuuuust right.)
The solution? I have taken matters into my own hands. I have banished the offending books to time-out. I have built (in a very sophisticated manner, using the Turn A Cardboard Box On Its Side Technique) a brand-spankin-new bookshelf for all the books I am halfway through. A Halfway House, if you will. A Home for Abused and Neglected Literature.
If you expected this post to have a triumphant ending, I’m sorry. I can’t help it if I started out with a love for books and ended up with a cardboard box. At least I’m not living in one.
*Please note the vitamins atop the bookshelf. Another thing to feel guilty about. You may refer here for explanation.