I lead a very book-centric life. I work in a bookshop. I read everyday. I talk about books with friends and colleagues, random people on the bus, and on the internet. Sometimes I even wake up thinking about the story I was reading before I fell asleep. It’s like the characters have been running through my mind all night. I guess I think about books in my dreams too.
On some evenings after closing up the bookshop and turning out the lights I look around the dark store and see all the books lined up on the shelves. Just the books in this one little shop are more than I can read in multiple lifetimes (though customers sometimes assume otherwise!). It makes me sad and desperate to think about all the books I’ll never be able to read.
But it makes me giddy at the same time because I know that I’ll never be short on books to read as long as I live. I’m glad that there are an overwhelming number of books out there—and so many writers are finding a way to make these stories. I find a little comfort just knowing the books are there on my shelf—and under the bed, and on the coffee table, and on the floor, at the library, and at the bookstore. I won’t be able to READ ALL TEH BOOKS but it’s a pleasure and an incredible fortune to be able to read some of them.