I have a problem

Ok, first step to recovery is admitting you have the problem, right? Well, here it is– I have a library book addiction. I am addicted to reading books I get from the library, and only books from the library. I have stacks and stacks of books I own, gazing forlornly at me, unread, imploring me to crack them open and devour them like I do with the constant stream of laminated covered/barcoded/stickered spined screaming “New” or “Hold Shelf” books. Instead, I turn my back on those books I own, shunning them for the glittering barrage of new titles that streak through my house day in and day out.
Right now, at 9pm on Superbowl Sunday, I’m looking at my library queue and dreaming of the day that I get Ted Turner’s bio delivered to my local branch, or the day I can pick up Susan Sontag’s newly released journals. Or ooh! More books about nutrition and financial freedom (separate books… although I see the connection between the two topics)! And meanwhile, I’ve got a stack of 4 library books piled up beside me on the couch (although I just pulled the trigger on 2 and decided to not to try and finish them). If I turn my head an inch or two, I can block out the vision of a towering stack of owned books that are gathering dust, sitting unread and frankly unloved.
Case in point– two books by Kevin Phillips, the same guy I had an unquenchable thirst for after reading Bad Money (yes, which was a library book). I picked up these two books on my birthday, and there they have languished for the last few months. My Kevin Phillips crush appears to be over… at least until I check out one of his books from the library.
The only thing that will save me are my tiny, pocket-books. These mass media paperbacks actually fit in purses, which is how I smuggled a book into a Russian men’s choral concert last night. With The Max on stage, me alone in the audience, who would disapprove if I read a couple of chapters before (and dare I say, during…) the concert.