I don't need any more books.

I have so many books.


Not only do I have a ridiculous number of books, but I have a ridiculous number of books that I haven't even read yet. I collect books like I collect shoes: I see them, I fall in love with them, and I have to have them.


Some of my books remind me of my childhood. Some of them cheer me up. Some of them help me get out that good cry. Some of them just look pretty on my shelf. And some of them captivate me.


Unfortunately, the majority of them just sit there, untouched, while I ADD some other book that catches my attention.


So I've decided that I don't need any more books. I actually decided this a while back but I went to Books-A-Million tonight with Jessica after dinner to walk around and ended up purchasing two books at full price that I absolutely did not need.

Seeing "Julie and Julia" made me fall in love with Julia Child all over again. I had to have these books.

So since I indulged after my initial pledge, I'll make an official one, in writing.


I absolutely will not buy any more books until my night stand has been cleared because all of the books piled on top of it have been read, including tonight's purchases.

This is going to be hard to stick to. I see political books, particularly anything about Reagan, and I automatically pick them up. I see romance novels, particularly anything historical, and I automatically pick them up. I see mysteries, particularly anything by Kathy Reichs, and I automatically pick them up. I see used books, particularly ones with notes in the margins, and I pick them up.

There's something comforting about old books.

Knowing that you're reading the same words that someone else has read, embarking on the same adventure, ending up at the same destination, is somewhat magical. I always wonder, especially when I don't have the benefit of the previous reader's margin notes, if I'm imagining the story in the same way that they did.

Right now my literary elephant in the room is Atlas Shrugged.

Yeah, it's a beast.

I've been trying to sit down and finish this book for months now. I'm not even close to finished. I love the story, and I know what happens, but I need to experience finishing the book. My copy isn't old, but it's beginning to look that way fast. I carried it with me everywhere I went for months. I've written plenty of notes in the margins for my benefit later or for the benefit of the next reader of my worn copy. They're not brilliant observations or anything, just modern parallels or ideas I found interesting. I always like to know what a previous reader found interesting.

So until I finish this beast and several other beasts on my night stand, I'm cutting my book habit off. It's probably best that I stay out of bookstores around the holidays. Too many sales and too much temptation.

I'll stick to shoes until this book thing shakes out.