I buy books at a faster rate than I read. It’s a chronic condition, really.
Every time I finish a book, my optimism balloons to a size large enough to eclipse the fact that I have a day job. Sometimes I’m envious of the security guy at my office who seems to be reading all day.
Unless I glance at my bookshelf regularly, I’d forget that I’ve bought very interesting books that are still unread. The sensible thing to do is, of course, to read them before buying more. Of course.
But.
(The other side of But is always more nuanced.)
Buying new books feels so good! That crisp cover, clean paper, the smell of fresh print, the oh-so-cosmopolitan feel of walking out of a bookstore with a branded bag. It’s even worse when the establishment is an indie bookstore. Add a sprinkle of self-righteousness, please.
This picture shows all the print books I bought this summer. I have read exactly 3.5 of them. My stat is a bit better with ebooks and audiobooks, 6/9 and 3/5, respectively.
Currently reading Between the World and Me
I’ve become pretty good at finding bargains, tracking prices, and finding free books, so at least I’m not spending a fortune for shelf decorations. But I intend, truly, to consume all of them…eventually.
I could enact a self-imposed ban on new books until I’ve read a certain percentage of what I have.
But.
Who am I kidding?
