images-1Bookaholic. This really came home to me when today’s mail was delivered. FOUR big cardboard packages/padded envelopes that could only mean one thing: BOOKS. 

I really am incapable of dealing with libraries AT ALL (I neeevvvver return them) so if I hear of a book that intrigues me, I will go to Amazon Marketplace and see if I can get one for a dollar, or three. Plus postage, and it doesn’t feel like very much  - is it? Unless it’s a newly published book or one by a friend of mine, in which case I will buy it new. I try to balance my Amazon habit with my supporting-independent-bookstores habit.

Last night I had an hour to kill and just happened to be nearby one of my favorite indy bookstores. It was such an amazing pleasure to walk around, touch and pick up and browse dozens and dozens of books. Mmm! In the end I had to buy two: John Crowley’s newest, Endless Things, and Peter Carey’s His Illegal Self

Today, the mail brought me: two copies of the new Asian adoptee literary ‘zine Grinding Up Stones (looks great!), Joyce Carol Oates’ The Faith of A Writer: Life, Craft and Art (some writer buddies were raving about it and I got intrigued) and Shrink Yourself, a book about emotional eating (and which, curiously, was blurbed by Senator Ted Kennedy!). 

And that’s only in the last 24 hours.