Books Coming Out of the Woodwork

I'm so anxious for Spring I've started my cleaning early in hopes of tricking Mother Nature into believing it's later in the year than it really is.  A girl can dream.

This year (yes I actually do this every year) I started in the 'Repository for all things no one knows what to do with.' Otherwise known as my bedroom. It's all my fault. I admit in the midst of a hurry up, Mom's on the way, cleaning I've told the family, "Put it in my room."

They now do this without prompting. They still leave towels on the floor. Put it in my room is what they remember. Sigh, I suppose I should be gratefully they aren't leaving dirty towels on my bedroom floor.

I digress. There was a time when I kept every paperback novel I bought. I had boxes and boxes of them; organized by author and title. The lady at the consignment bookstore was very impressed. I thought she might give me a little extra for saving her the hassle of sorting them, but she did not.

Two trips later I figured I had gotten rid of all of my novels. Well written Romance, my absolute favorite. This was four maybe five years ago. I took a ridiculous number of books and used the credit to buy ones I hadn't read.

The place went out of business before I had a chance to use all of my credit if that tells you anything.

The last couple of years I haven't had much time to read. I haven't accumulated many books at all. Yet every time I clean in the Spring I find at least a dozen more I'd forgotten all about. There were a couple this year I had to skim to make sure I'd read them; I had.

I have donated no fewer than two dozen paperback Romances to the local library this year alone. They are seeping out of my room rather reminding me of Tribbles. I was certain, in August, I had rid myself of the last of them.

Oh no! Another dozen made an appearance a couple of days ago. I hauled all the donation items to the garage. Upon entering my now blissfully clean bedroom I spot two novels poking out from under the bed. The bed I cleaned under yesterday.

It's an invasion I tell you.

If they were books I'd never read, or even didn't remember reading it would be a wondrous find. What it is instead is proof of my addiction. I'm a read-aholic. Who knows when the last book will slide out of the walls and allow me to take it to a better home.

I've given up the battle. There is a box located in said room for the express purpose of collecting errant books. I have little doubt it will fill with books by June. It's a sad state of affairs when the books have taken over the reader.