Reading. Reading and I go together like…like all the “going together” clichés. Like coffee and cream, like pb&j, like eggs and bacon, like movies and popcorn, like mac n cheese, like garlic and bread, like southern and fried. I love to read. I read everything. Magazines that are handy, newspapers that are lying about, writing on the wall, instructions on the shampoo bottle, ingredients lists on labels, small print, blogs, books, books, and more books.
I’ve said before that I read several books at a time and that I will eventually get so wrapped up in a book that I forsake all others until that one is finished. I like to read so much that I’ve adopted audiobooks into my sphere of reading and use them to continue on with my books while I fold laundry/clean bathrooms/make dinner/bathe children/grocery shop/and on.
I have a relationship with my books. If they are good enough or intriguing enough, I will read them repeatedly. A good example of this is Twilight. It is not an especially well written set of novels and I am not in highschool, but I have a soft spot for love stories no matter how crappily presented or shoddily written or how giant their plot holes are. I also love vampires and detest werewolves, although this series made me root for the wolves all the way. (I thought Edward was a pretentious asshole.) Regardless of all the holes I could pick with each and every novel in this series and regardless of the underdeveloped writing and complete lack of imagination in the descriptive word area, I read these books FIVE TIMES. IN.A.ROW. Really. I was obsessed. I still, to this day, can not explain it. I hang my head in shame.
Then, of course, I’ve never considered myself a literary snob; the opposite, in fact. I have a very hard time with “classics”. All the books, I “should” read. They are just, BORING. OKAY. Not all of them are, but I can’t read Alfred Lord Tennyson and not fall asleep or even, Ernest Hemingway **gasp** without wanting to go jump out the window. There I said it. And.
All of this is to say that I spend a lot of money on books. A lot. I can read three books a week. More if they aren’t epic and less if they are. Up until recently, I’ve purchased them all new. I don’t have anything against used books, just used book stores. They never have a great selection and their merchandising is crap. I struggle. Well, with this, that and the other, money has been tight and my ability to purchase all these new books has dwindled to almost nil. So I took my kids to the library.
**sings and dances**
I LOVE the library. I have discovered that I can go online and request any book they have anywhere in the county and have it transferred to my branch and held for me. I can read anything I want FOR FREE! Why is this new to me? Why have I waited so stinking long to discover this? I have no clue, other than the mistaken belief that I had to own every book I’ve ever read, masterpiece or complete crap. It’s like having my home library a couple of miles down the road in this well-lit, quiet spot that smells like my favorite smell. BOOKS!
Ah, yes. The library and I are gonna do great things together. The library is a bosom friend. Sorry, B&N, you can take your $35 yearly membership and shove it. I have a new love and her name is LIBRARY!