books

i am beginning to hate books. i have an awful lot of books. as i clear up i keep finding more and more, quite a few i never even knew i had and i have no recollection of buying.
yet there they are. a daunting, growing, pile. more than i will ever read.
i should be happy as, logically; i should never have to buy a new book again.
oh if only it were so simple.

even as i sort, stack and pack the books that i find (“oh that one looks really interesting!”) i can’t help but think of the books that i don’t have.
each time i go into a supermarket i drift by the bookshelves to see what is there, and there is always something there to tease and taunt me, something crying out to be bought.
oh it might be a new james bond book but i know what it really is a naughty tease of a book. tempting me, crying out to me “buy me, buy me”. or perhaps it is the new harlan coben book i hear calling to me? maybe it is the new john connolly.
no it is not, it is even worse they have come together in a choir and they all sing out to me. their voices joined by the cherie blair and john prescott biographies. and hark there is the sound of a book about the building of st paul’s and in the distance the golden trumpet sounds the arrival of more editions of marvel essentials and dc showcases.

try as i might i can never quiet deafen the voices of the books. they cry out, they beg and demand to be heard.
so far i have resisted but i know i am going to weaken soon and then it will only be a matter of time before i give in and buy another new book…

“my name is pat and i buy books….”