Joy of Books, Books, Books

I have come to an odd conclusion. Perhaps this is a natural progression for bibliophiles everywhere, but it has taken me somewhat aback.

The very act of obtaining a book is just as fulfilling and satisfying to me as the actual reading of a book.

Does this statement catch you off guard, as well?

Is it possible that I glean just as much satisfaction from the book itself, quite separate from the story contained within?

To hold a book thrills me.

To download a book to my hard drive and see it appear on my iPad makes me smile.

To see a book in the mailbox from a fellow PaperBackSwap member increases my pulse.

To browse the rows of books at the library and find a book spine that appeals to me fills me with happiness.

I own well over 1500 books, counting all media types. It will take me years to read them, if I ever read them all. And yet, I cannot have enough. I want more.

Does this make me selfish? A hoarder? Is there a 12-step bibliophile program? This must be how the alcoholic feels. How the binge eater feels. The anorexic who can never be thin enough. And yet these are all phycial addictions. What I have is a mental addiction.

Books! Books! Books!

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