Books are piling up on my shelf again. I'm back to feeling helpless when it comes to resisting them. Is it that when I ordered a keyboard cover for my new laptop on Amazon, I had to order a few books in order to get free shipping? Or that while attending the Florida Writers Association conference a couple weeks ago, I couldn't resist shopping in the bookstore. Or is it that I've felt a new surge in writing lately and when I go to the bookstore for some peace, I'm overwhelmed by all the new books out for Christmas.
All of the above. I also snuck in a few new titles on my Kindle. The other day while dusting in the dining room, I saw the books that grace the shelves there. I'd forgotten about them. We don't eat in the dining room very often, only when we have company. Now I'm feeling overwhelmed by books again.
That got me to thinking why I started writing this blog to begin with. Addiction. I seemed to think that hoarding books was harmless. I loved to read, what harm could it be. Yet I foolishly spent money on things I didn't use. Armloads of books sat silently on my shelf. As soon as the next intriguing best seller came out, I bought it, tossing aside all the perfectly good books I already had. When I started writing this blog, I had 76 unread books waiting for my loving eyes to read their pages and warm hands to hold them. For a long time I kept track of titles I read. Probably half of that 76 has been read, a few more given away when I started them and couldn't stomach more that the first chapter. At least another 76 have made their way into my reading mind without ever being logged onto the list.
The path that initially had me examining my bookshelf also got me to examine my life. For a long time after closing the book I read before bedtime, I prayed for the will to stop drinking. And every day at dinner, I reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of wine. From my drunken stupor, I prayed some more. And then one day I fixed dinner and set a glass of water in front of my place. That was almost three years ago.
That first night, I went to bed and said thank you. The next night, I asked for help me. Unbeknownst to me, that first night was only the beginning of a long and painful journey. But I made it down the road. Oh sure, on days like today, when it's cold out, for some reason I crave a drink. But I don't have one. So many things are clearer in my mind. It's so much more pleasant not driving through life in the fog.
I'll make it through my pile of books. I'll read them, keeping the ones I love and passing along those I don't like quite so much. My love of books and the written word helped me to understand other shortcomings in my life. Every book comes into my life for a reason and I promise I'm going to read them. I know I can do it. My books showed me the way.
All of the above. I also snuck in a few new titles on my Kindle. The other day while dusting in the dining room, I saw the books that grace the shelves there. I'd forgotten about them. We don't eat in the dining room very often, only when we have company. Now I'm feeling overwhelmed by books again.
That got me to thinking why I started writing this blog to begin with. Addiction. I seemed to think that hoarding books was harmless. I loved to read, what harm could it be. Yet I foolishly spent money on things I didn't use. Armloads of books sat silently on my shelf. As soon as the next intriguing best seller came out, I bought it, tossing aside all the perfectly good books I already had. When I started writing this blog, I had 76 unread books waiting for my loving eyes to read their pages and warm hands to hold them. For a long time I kept track of titles I read. Probably half of that 76 has been read, a few more given away when I started them and couldn't stomach more that the first chapter. At least another 76 have made their way into my reading mind without ever being logged onto the list.
The path that initially had me examining my bookshelf also got me to examine my life. For a long time after closing the book I read before bedtime, I prayed for the will to stop drinking. And every day at dinner, I reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of wine. From my drunken stupor, I prayed some more. And then one day I fixed dinner and set a glass of water in front of my place. That was almost three years ago.
That first night, I went to bed and said thank you. The next night, I asked for help me. Unbeknownst to me, that first night was only the beginning of a long and painful journey. But I made it down the road. Oh sure, on days like today, when it's cold out, for some reason I crave a drink. But I don't have one. So many things are clearer in my mind. It's so much more pleasant not driving through life in the fog.
I'll make it through my pile of books. I'll read them, keeping the ones I love and passing along those I don't like quite so much. My love of books and the written word helped me to understand other shortcomings in my life. Every book comes into my life for a reason and I promise I'm going to read them. I know I can do it. My books showed me the way.
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