Friday, April 08, 2005
To Read is To Do is To Be
I am in need of some major temporal inebriation. Somehow, massive units of time, preferably measured in days, have to be deposited in my time bank...like today. Withdrawals from said bank will begin yesterday.
A new right side addtion to this site will be a rip-off from Nick Hornby'sPolysyllabic Spree. This addition is not set up to impress you; it's there to remind me that there are books to read before I sleep. Hopefully, it will also keep my visits to that evil place amazon, at least until my Purchased but unread Pile decreases.
I've tried other methods, all short of this self-directed public humiliation. Propping books on the bed stand so they collapse onto me at the slightest gust of bedroom air. Shelving unread tomes in the bathroom to the point where they nudged my shaving supplies out the door. Keeping books in the car, occupying the full back seat and slowly now encroaching to the front seats.
It's bad. Very bad. Packed-to-the-gills bookshelves in the house are groaning at the strain of the physical weight. My conscience is groaning under a similar strain. The worst of it is, these unread volumes are like children you have criminally not paid attention to. You can't get rid of them; you have to become a better parent. That or go blind.
I am in need of some major temporal inebriation. Somehow, massive units of time, preferably measured in days, have to be deposited in my time bank...like today. Withdrawals from said bank will begin yesterday.A new right side addtion to this site will be a rip-off from Nick Hornby'sPolysyllabic Spree. This addition is not set up to impress you; it's there to remind me that there are books to read before I sleep. Hopefully, it will also keep my visits to that evil place amazon, at least until my Purchased but unread Pile decreases.
I've tried other methods, all short of this self-directed public humiliation. Propping books on the bed stand so they collapse onto me at the slightest gust of bedroom air. Shelving unread tomes in the bathroom to the point where they nudged my shaving supplies out the door. Keeping books in the car, occupying the full back seat and slowly now encroaching to the front seats.
It's bad. Very bad. Packed-to-the-gills bookshelves in the house are groaning at the strain of the physical weight. My conscience is groaning under a similar strain. The worst of it is, these unread volumes are like children you have criminally not paid attention to. You can't get rid of them; you have to become a better parent. That or go blind.
Comments:
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Shhh! SSSHHH! - or you'll have Social Services on our tails? They'll come, they'll take your books - even the ones you've read and worn - because that doesn't matter to them. They don't care that most of your books have a nice comfortable place on a shelf. They only see the ones on the floor, or the ones with a thin smear of dust on the jacket. They only see what they want to.
And, it's a bugger to get your books back, afterwards.
And, it's a bugger to get your books back, afterwards.
Whaaa...?! Is this a case of "Do as I say, not as I do"? Seems to me a week or two earlier you were encouraging me to flee such a temptation! Ah, well: Godspeed on your temporal journey.
Mr. W.P., have pity on my Janus-faced behaviour. These books have weighed on me for a while. Two, in fact, have been added by reading your blog! ("The Road Home" & "Complicated Kindness"). I have pickpocketed Hornby's idea only so that I can somehow get from underneath the weight of the words. A means to an end. I seek not pity but empathy. While I admired your journy forward, I'm simply trying to finish a trek begun 5-6 months ago. Forgive me my trespasses.
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