I had a conversation with a friend of mine. She logically claimed that I could never find the time and actually read all the books I want to read.
I choose to ignore her oh so very reasonable deduction and not think about it in such a negative way. I refuse to accept the reality she is offering.
No, seriously, I love books and reading them is a form of happy therapy for me. It makes me get as close to zen state as I think I am capable of getting.
I try to keep my TBR monster under leash.
Problem is I keep finding out about new books I would like to read, own, reread, possess, get my hands on, know everything about, cuddle with, have a smart conversation about, have a laugh at loud moment while reading them, cry my soul out over, fangirl on a lead character, become a greatest fan of a supporting character, defend a book to someone who did not like it, make someone else read the book I loved,…
Books are not something I really want to be humble and controlled about.
I want them all!
Not just the books I have time for.
Not just the books I have on my shelf already.
Not just the books I can afford.
Adding a new book to my TBR pile is like making a wish. After reading the book I added the wish comes true.
I feel sense of accomplishment after reading I book. None of the other aspects of my life grant me this high. Good grades, getting a diploma, getting a job – none of these things compare with the feeling I get while reading and finishing a book.
Reading has become like breathing or sleeping.
I’m not myself and get really frustrated without a good story and a book.
This is a condition I am happy suffering from.
anastasiaadamov 