Most my friends know me to be a bibliophile. Lacking the funds and erudition to build a library of leather bound first editions, I'm a bibliophile in the way of a happy hog at a trough. I love consuming books, and more is good. Forget those ancient hand bound tomes with exquisitely illustrated plates - give me my mass produced, pulpy fiction for a quick escape, please. Unfortunately, with ever diminishing bookspace, a desire to be "green," as well as diminishing funds, I've recently decided to attempt to use the public library.
As a child, the public library was where I loved to spend my summers - peacefully quiet, cool AC, racks upon racks of undiscovered stories and people. I'd stumble home with a pile 8 or 10 books every few days. Over the years, I've slowly grown disused to utilizing the library for pleasure. I think college and grad school stained the library with stressful memories of long nights, lots of hard work, very little pleasure. (I probably needed a better, hotter, study partner). Additionally, the thought of reading a publically owned item in my bed (and I admit, worse places) gave me the creeps. How many other people have read this book in who knows where? What if the previous patrons had children in the house who sneezed or slobbered on the books?
I am proud to say, that after going to the library this Monday - I've come to peace with the cooties aspect. The cooties I get from just going to the library, and the cooties from actually bringing home and reading the books. And so far, it's made my habits of reading a book a day much much more affordable.
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1 comment:
Book cooties! That's hilarious. Gotta admit, that's one thing I never worried about.
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