I have an addiction. No, it's not that kind of addiction. I am addicted to buying (and reading) books. Despite having a backlog of about fifty physical books and probably two hundred e-books, I continue to trade in books at the Used Book Superstore and bring home more and more and more books.
I go to bookstores in other towns, states, and even other countries. Yes, when I was in Montreal, I went into a bookstore in an all-French neighborhood, although I have not spoken any real French since I left sixth grade.
It's a sickness.
Every time I visit family in North Carolina, I go in search of bookstores. I can't find the independent one I am looking for, so I end up at the Flying Biscuit cafe, instead. After I eat breakfast for lunch, I hit my back-up bookstore, Barnes and Noble.
I don't need a book. I have a book with me and I have my phone with both Kindle and Nook e-books already loaded. But, I go in anyway. I peruse the magazines, decide that Taylor Swift graces too many covers for my sanity, then pick up a travel book for an upcoming trip to the west coast.
I need another Tote bag like Castro needs another cigar, so I almost decline, but, in the end, I agree to it, thinking it will be some cheap muslin or plastic thing. Instead, I get a choice of three different heavy-duty canvas bags. The nice ones. The twenty dollar ones.
Score!
I choose a black and gold bag (Bruins colors), and I happily leave with my merchandise. Like I said, I don't need any more books, but now I have some great swag inside of which I can hide more books. So, I guess it all works out in the end.
