In a book store, I cannot ever NOT by a book.
Honestly, it is worth considering why I am the way that I am. Seriously. Why?
I don’t need anymore books.
It’s just that I want more books. I know I don’t need to purchase more books, when I should just visit the shelf on my desk and make my selection.
I think it is weird. I would rather stroll the aisles of a bookstore looking at covers and deciding on the fly (and rather dumbly) the books that I am interested in, than walk to my desk at home and choose the next book to read. I think maybe because I don’t read the synopsis of a lot of the books that I add to my “want to read” list, the reptillian aspects of my brain that are attracted to shiny pretty things, takes over and I buy books that I am not really all *that* interested in reading.
This might be the case. I have figured out that I have grand ideas about what I *think* I’d like to read. I know this because sometimes I will, willy-nilly like go through GoodReads, clicking “Want to Read” somewhat cavalierly. About once a month, I sit down and decide to request some of them from CPL. Lately, I have gotten a few books and once I read a bit of the book or the book description, I’m like:
But at least I am not spending 100 pages reading these books before deciding I hate the book and quitting it.
This is progress, people.
I wonder if this is partially about wish fulfillment. Maybe I want to be a person who has the time to read so voraciously that I can afford to waste time reading books that I have carelessly decided to read, because, big deal. I have plenty of time! I worry about this a lot with some of the things I want to do. Like, do I *really* want to hike the Appalachian Trail, or do I want to be at a place in my life where I *could* hike the AT?
Because they aren’t exactly the same thing.
Honestly, I could just see me having decided to hike the AT and bailing before I even got out of Georgia, like, “NOPE.” But it would be nice to be *able* to hike the AT.
Or maybe this is just about identity and impression management. Like, I just want to seem like the kind of person who reads some books. I could be this shallow. The more Man-Booker books I read, the more I wonder if this is the case. When I decided to read the Man-Booker books, I mostly knew what I was doing. I knew that the MB Prize is awarded to the “best” English literature published during the year. Not the most popular. But “best” awarded by literature types who read for a living. They read and eschew the popular and plebian. That is how you end up with The Finkler Question (a “comedy” about old Jewish dudes obsessing about their dicks, being Jewish, and philandering). Maybe if I read these books people will think I am smart? An intellectual? Is that what is happening?
Oh, you can definitely tell it is the end of the quarter and I have a shit ton of grading to do. When I am getting meta about my life, it’s time to sit my ass down in a chair and grade some more.