12:10 p.m. - 04/20/02
literary hangovers & bibliophilic withdrawal.
I think hell is just a heaven of too many dimensions. I am sitting here, with 8 unexplored books awaiting me, (the average cost of them $1.63, with a median price of $1), all of which house great psychological and literary prospects, all of which could fuel/fulfill my current driving need (to learn for the sake of learning), all of which could produce several very pretty note cards (I have, over the course of my Junior Research Paper, developed a moderate obsession with notecards...), all of which are trying to look the prettiest and most intriguing, resulting in urges to read them one page at a time...which of course would not work because how could I determine the order, and how on earth would I stop midsentence, and so on?
It's a good thing this book fair is only held once a year. And I must must must refrain from researching similar events in the area. I think if I could drive, legally and without panicking, (maybe even *with* panicking), I would be back there right this moment, rooting through the same stacks a day later, thoroughly engrossed by the combinations of never-touched, shiny paper covers and fading gold-leafed velvet ones...
And I would be happy and uninhibited by terms such as 'obsessive' ... After all, there are people with shopping carts and boxes full. Addiction is so very relative.
chord
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