I have a lot of downtime at work, and not to sound all creepy and stalkerish or anything, but today I’ve been using that to read basically all of Karen’s past entries at Books and Chocolate. She’s awesome and you should follow her. Being somewhat new to the book blogging world, I have not struck up any firm friendships with other book bloggers, and therefore I do not know the people whose entries I read, BUT, after weeks of wading through crap after crap blog, I have found a small number of them I like greatly, and hers is one.
Anyway, so she discusses in some entry how she’s trying to get through only TBR books this year, i.e. the books we all buy and then just kind of leave on a shelf because something new and shiny catches our eye. I decided to go through my goodreads list for last year and see how many of the books on it were library books. The answer was almost all of them. I've already discussed how for me the library is essentially a house of prostitution which causes me to leave the faithful little books quietly waiting for me on my shelves for its exotic allures.
The number of unread books I have is shameful. I got a Kindle so they would no longer clutter up my shelves. What I need is some sort of strategy to cease using that cheap (okay, free) harlot known as the Harold Washington Public Library, and instead spend some quality time with lovely books like Alison Weir’s Eleanor of Aquitaine, Edith Wharton’s The Reef, and Terry Pratchett’s Guards! Guards!.
And Lord God, please don’t let me get sucked into George R.R. Martin’s nerdy little world and get Game of Thrones from the library. Because the last damn thing I want is to sincerely belong to the Brotherhood Without Banners club.
I found a picture of an actual sad panda. This is what I would be if I took Martin really seriously.