An Intervention

– Now honey, you know I’m here for you and I love you…

– oh for gods sake, what? What now?

– But the time has come to admit it: you’re hurting yourself…

– I have no idea what you’re talking about. Seriously. Stop talking to me

– and you’re hurting the people who care about you…

– Oh raspberries to you, madam. The people who care don’t even know about this

– Believe me, they know. You have a problem…

– No I Don’t! How can this even be a problem? You’re crazy.

– And if you’re not careful, you know how badly this is going to end…

– How can this end badly? Really?? Tell me how this can possibly end badly for anyone, least of all me

– I want to help you, sweetie. We all do. Let us in…

– No, I refuse, you can’t make me! *fingers in ears* la la la! I can’t hear you!

– You’re going to try that? You’re 38 and trying that trick on me, honestly? And how did you think that would work out with me being in your head and all?

So. I visited a bookshop on Sunday (my anti-Amazon stance over books is still going strong) and brought the couple of Neil Gaiman‘s I thought my daughter would like, and then the blue mist of booky covetousness descended and, 20 minutes later, I found myself an Alan Garner and a Marilynne Robinson to the better. Unless you look at my bank balance. That is very much not better.

Nor is the teetering pile I have added these titles to – it teeters ever upwards and currently fails to diminish thanks to my reading capabilities of two pages before I fall asleep (I blame the new, super-warm duvet on my bed). Hence my secret fear: this will end badly because I will find myself at the age of 80, living in a house where tunnels have to be made between the tottering, teetering piles of books. I shall find myself sleeping in a papery nest and unable to find the kitchen. There will be a cat in there that I won’t have properly seen since 2053. I shall become, in short, a paper-hunchbacked Miss Havisham but instead of mourning a marriage never taken, I shall be mourning the books never read.

My own self tried to stage an intervention but I fear the addiction has too strong a hold…


*This is not actually my house. Yet.


2 thoughts on “An Intervention

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  1. Why oh why did I stupidly click on the links you gave? I really should know better. Now I’m going to have to get those books to add to *my* teetering pile. You are a bad influence.

    1. Do you know, I read that and gave an involuntary evil chuckle. So it seems that not only am I a bad influence, I’m possibly also an evil book genius hellbent on filling people’s houses with teetering piles of books they don’t have time to read. The Kindle will never defeat me!

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