A Closet Full of Books

Some people have a closet filled with clothes to reflect their every mood.  They have outfits for formal occasions, cocktail parties, business meetings, everyday work attire, a spectrum of casual clothes, exercise clothes, and the ratty old t-shirt we wear to clean the bathrooms.  And we won’t even start on the shoes. 

I am not one of these people.  I often long for the simple components of men’s attire: a tuxedo, suit with tie, dress pants and blazer, khakis and a golf shirt, or shorts and a golf shirt.  Add a half dozen pairs of shoes in brown or black and you’ve got a complete wardrobe.  Women’s clothing lacks this rational formula, and seems to involve every possible accessory.  I will probably never figure out the intricacies of this system, but I consider it an accomplishment that I finally own shoes that are not white or black.

What I do have is a “closet” full of books.  I have funny books and dramatic books, fantastical and realistic, old familiar authors and new exciting finds, and I love them all.  I put the same effort many people pour into planning their wardrobe into planning my books.  Going on vacation means I must be sure to get enough books so that I don’t run out of things to read.  For me, that would be tantamount to forgetting to pack enough underwear (and probably harder to replace).  I found myself seriously considering packing fewer clothes so I had more room for books.

There are books you impulsively pick up and devour quickly as a light snack, others are so decadent they must be savored in small bites.  Some make you laugh out loud, others make you want to cry.  You may identify with the characters so much that they inspire you, or you may be fascinated by how different they are.  You eagerly anticipate the next installment in a series so you can revisit them like old friends, and sometimes find yourself wishing you could introduce people to them.   You may even convince yourself that you are now educated about such obscure topics as Behavioral Economics and Social Neuroscience.    

So, my books will keep flowing on and off of my reading shelf, visiting for a while then returning to their home at the library.  And maybe I will eventually extract my nose from a book long enough to dredge up the recollection that I desperately need to procure something I can actually wear.