I’ve Got 99 Problems And Books Are Almost All Of Them (But I’m Only Listing Seven So You Don’t Hate Me)

  1. I have to self-impose book buying bans.
    And even then, they don’t work. I did a book haul about two weeks ago, which consisted of about fifteen books. Due to limited space, I promised I wouldn’t be buying any more books until after my birthday in March. And I got two more literally the day after I made that decision. Well, my mother did. But still. They’re on my bookshelf.
    See above: I have one bookcase, as my other furniture takes up so much space. It’s actually quite a large bookshelf, and I’ve had it literally all of my life. It’s been too small for the past three years, though, and I’ve had to box up some of my books and stow them away in various places. Am I a hoarder? Probably. Do I care? Nope.
  3. “I need books for school”
    I do, actually. I have to buy multiple copies of several books for English Literature, along with all the York Notes, the critical editions, further reading… And then we have further reading for my history course, too, and archaeology. I have to read a literature book for German, too. I’m oddly looking forward to that. But I always ask for more books than what is probably needed, like a petulant cat that just wants more food, thank you. That reminds me of the period when I convinced myself that books were food, but that’s an entirely different story.
  4. I ‘borrow’ books from my family and never give them back
    Case in point: I currently possess a Dan Brown book belonging to my stepdad, a couple of ones by Kate Mosse that my mum probably wants back, and several classics gifted to me on a part time basis. So maybe I’m a bit of a book nicker. But then again, don’t we all accidentally never give books back? No…?
  5. I have a fucking massive TBR pile
    I’m not even going to try to list them. It will take me hours, and my hands will most likely fall off.
  6. What do you do when you go to university?
    I honestly think I might die if I have to decide which books to leave behind. I don’t trust my family with them. I know I’ll take my Skulduggery Pleasant collection, and my Philippa Gregory series, and my Jules Verne anthology, and my Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy bind up, and Harry Potter, and everything else, but what happens to what’s left behind? I can’t exactly go home and see them every weekend. Well, I guess I could, but nobody else understands that my books need hugs, and so do I.
  7. Money money money…
    Of which I have little. Most of my books come from charity shops or sales on at my local library, along with birthday presents and ones I brought with Christmas or holiday money. I don’t have a job, and I’m trying to rally against my notoriously anxious nature to go and get one ASAP, because I’m dying to find a bookshop that will employ me.

I hope you enjoyed this rather odd mess of a post! If you have any problems with books of your own, let me know and we can start up a support group. BAA (Book Addicts Anonymous), like Alcoholics Anonymous but with books thrown in instead of booze.

(I was going to find ten points, but I’ve run out of ideas.)

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