True Confessions of an Unapologetic Book Hoarder
I use Grammarly’s plagiarism detector online, because too many books, too little time, people!
I have a confession to make. I am the worst, most dirty, most disgusting, most despicable type of human being. Yes, I am a hoarder.
As I hang my head in shame, let me assure you, I have no problem throwing out old junk mail, expired pantry items, or my birds’ dirty cage liners, but when it comes to a particular type of trash, I just cannot kick it to the curb.
I’m talking books.
Sure, I’m an avid reader, and therefore have the need for my huge library (both in the print and electronic realms, thank you very much). But I also have the little issue of buying or otherwise acquiring literature that I know–beyond the shadow of a doubt, I know–I will never, ever read.
Not just fiction I know I wouldn’t like but still need to have on my shelf (i.e. The Davinci Code), but also text books, over a dozen instructional language guides I’ve yet to crack open, professional manuals, coffee table tomes, things that just look or smell cool… It’s absurd.
And I intentionally seek out places where I know I’m going to find things to add to my collection: thrift shops where I can get hardcovers for just 50 cents (score!), garage and rummage sales, used book stores, and even Barnes & Noble. And now that I have Amazon Prime, I can impulse buy books online too, because, I mean, it’s not going to take that long for them to arrive, and I just have to fill that spot on my shelf…
Okay, if I’m being honest, it’s not the spot on my shelf, there is no spot there. Hasn’t been in years. I have plenty of space, though in my dozens of boxes of books in the basement, or in my random stacks I keep on countertops, dressers, tables–basically any surface that’s out of the way and not often used.
Because the sickest part? I’m also a neat freak. A super neat freak. Like I developed a full-blown case of OCD during my recent pregnancy and start to panic if everything is not in its place.
Somehow my book hoarding habit seems incongruous with my fundamental need to keep things neat and tidy.
It feels so much better admitting this tiny problem of mine to my most trusted friends (re: people who care enough to indulge me by reading this blog). You know what? I’m feeling strong. I’m feeling empowered. I’m going to go sort through my books, be honest with myself, and donate the ones I know I’m never ever reading to the Salvation Army.
Yes, I did just spend the better part of the day sorting through my stacks. I’d forgotten what bare shelves look like. So clean, so sparkly, so… sad.
Well, we’ll pick this up later. I’m heading to the book store. 😉