My delicious friend Miss Sarah K sent me a birthday present, which I received today. A book - The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop by Lewis Buzbee. I just started reading it, and there on page 9 was the exact reason I buy books.
For the last several days I've had the sudden and general urge to buy a new book. I've stopped off at a few bookstores around the city, and while I've looked at hundreds and hundreds of books in that time, I have not found the one book that will satisfy my urge. It's not as if I don't have anything to read; there's a tower of perfectly good unread books beside my bed, not to mention the shelves of books in the living room I've been meaning to reread. I find myself, maddeningly, hungry for the next one, as yet unknown. I no longer try to analyze this hunger; I capitulated long ago to the book lust that's afflicted me most of my life. I know enough about the course of the disease to know I'll discover something soon.
It's like Lewis Buzbee can see inside my head! That's just how I feel about books.
I just remembered something I hadn't thought of in ages. When I was about 8 or 9, my friend Heather was having a garage sale. She'd asked all of us if we had anything we'd like to donate, and I volunteered a bunch of books I'd already read. When I got home, I remember being overcome with anxiety and stress and just generally freaking out - I needed the books back and I needed them immediately. Fortunately I was of an age where my mom could solve my problems, and she went over to Heather's house and got them back. She might have even bought them back, now that I think about it.
I may be a good 20 years older now, but I still feel the same way about my books.
Long story short, books are awesome. And I need to go book shopping.