Here was the situation I found myself in yesterday. I had three hours and nine dollars to kill at the mall, so I went over to Barnes and Noble. My ultimate purpose was to (hopefully) find a copy of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman that I could afford. Alas, that was a dream which was nothing more than that, a dream. I perused further and the more I did so, the harder my decision was to make. Should I experiment with Isaac Asimov? Should I go with an author that I could trust myself with like Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman? Should I read something totally foreign and find a book in the Diseases section? (they had a whole section...) I found a book that was more than three time my budget, but I decided to indulge my fantasy for a little while and sit in the middle of the idle cradling the large (nearly one thousand page), black bound book entitled NECRINOMICON (a compilation of H.P. Lovecraft stories). Abandoning the hope of keeping it I returned it to the shelf and sought cheaper climes (the discount section) where I did find a compilation of H.P. Lovecraft stories, however, it was five measly stories. It was no NECRINOMICON. I will not lower my standards! Finally I came to a crossroads. Two books that I have wanted, both on sale, both in my budget, however, together I would be over and so I had to decide. The Art of War or Pride and Prejudice? I came to a decision eventually, and of course the thought did occur to me in the time I spent in Barnes and Noble that I didnt actually HAVE to buy a book, but that was likely just Satan putting doubts in me. Coming to the end of this ordeal, I have come to this conclusion: being bookish is complicated.
Posted on: Sun, 04 May 2014 17:11:26 +0000