I love books. I love reading them, buying them, giving them away as gifts, looking at them, and the smell of them. I like the weight of paper when I turn pages, and the dryness of its feel, and the memories they hold. It's probably not an uncommon thing, and also most probably not completely healthy. None of the finer things in life ever seem to be.
As a young girl, I concidered myself a pretty avid reader, though unfortunately I don't think so anymore (mostly cause I keep running out of time in porportion to what I want to read). For years I even listed the titles and authors of all the books I read, registering them for almost ten years on this old computer we had back home. During my high school-days it crashed, taking my only copy of that list with it and in all honesty - leaving a bit of a void in me. I never registered books again, perhaps the bitterness of it wouldn't let me.
Back when I started the list, I was a regular at the public libraries. I never had that much money, so for years and to my mothers amusement yet slight annoyance, I would only buy books I had already read and knew I really liked, cause I only wanted to spend the money on something I would appreciate. I didn't start buying books in larger quantities up until after high school, so I've never considered myself having that many books. Still, apart from traveling and food, it would be the thing I spend the most money on.
Now that I finally moved into my own, proper apartment, I have to admit that what I've been the most excited about is that I get to have all my books in one place. It hasn't been the case since I moved out of my parents house in March 2009, and I've gotten a whole lot more books since then (I think my book collection expanded with 40-50 new titles during the Fall's 12-week internship alone, and that is despite the fact that I, to my great chagrin, was too broke to buy a single book during the Gothenburg Book Fair in September).
Books make me happy, and so I surround myself with them as much as I can. As a kid, I got chewed out by my teachers for bringing my own novels to class and reading them during hours instead of listening to the lessons. And one of my biggest dreams was to one day own the library that belongs to the Beast in Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Yeah, I was that kind of a nerdy kid - all dreams.
Of course that particular one never came true (and never will), but I tried to compensate for it by having my new bedroom wallpapered with what looks like rows and rows of old books. One does one's best I suppose.
The thing is, as I mentioned, I never considered myself having that many books. But now that I'm unpacking, the books seem never-ending. I've been thinking of registering all of them on Librarythings, but it seems like such a time-consuming ordeal that I'm doubting I'll ever get around to it.
At the moment though, my biggest concern is where to fit all the books. I have a big bookcase that I've moved here from mom and dads house, and dad put up some shelves yesterday as well. But I have the nagging feeling that unless I organize this incredibly well, they won't be nearly enough.
Around midnight tonight I did the mistake of unpacking more boxes since I wasn't sleepy. Now, almost four hours later, my entire couch (where I sleep these days until I purchase a new bed) is full of books, there's nowhere to put them and I am falling asleep as I am writing. I'm suspecting I'll have to move them all to one side of the sofa and just sleep on the other, which doesn't really worry me. What does on the other hand give me some concern, is that I've run out of everything remotely simillar to shelving-space, and still haven't even found the Sandman-volumes I set out to find about three hours ago.