There’s bound to be a word for my condition: I buy books when I already have many unread books awaiting my attention. I already feel a bit guilty about the ones languishing in a tall stack beside my bed. However, that doesn’t stop me when I find a title I want, especially if it’s at a good price. An apparently insignificant frisson of remorse only sets in when I place yet another book on my to-be-read collection.
Right now Jane Austen’s letters wait, as does advice from Cesar Milan. The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart’s poetic turn is still unlocked. Sumi-e and manga are willing to share their techniques if I only take the time. Creative bookbinding has been waiting for almost a year!
Years ago I managed to read a book or two a week while working for a charity, keeping the house relatively tidy and raising a son. How did I do it? Now, if I have a moment for bedtime reading, I tend to fall asleep.
I’ll admit I’m having a little trouble wading my way through Love in the Time of Cholera. I can only hope reading it will not take the hundred years (or so it seemed) I needed to read One Hundred Years of Solitude. Forgive me, fans of those book. My friend Barbara is having her own struggle with Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past. We commiserate, then we laugh.
