I buy a lot more books than I can justify buying. I have a pile of unreads numbering something like two hundred by now? Maybe more hundreds, I completely lost track when the kindle came around. I blame cultural conditioning in childhood, when the fear of running out of things to read was a very real, very threatening concern.
The library is of limited use when you prefer to read in a foreign language. (Yes, English is foreign around here.) Even if I wanted to read in my native language, the things I want to read wouldn’t be translated in any hurry. Aaanyway.
I have enough love for Terry Pratchett and the Discworld that I actually want it to take up valuable space in my home, so the new hardback books are all on my List. I have a few of them already, today I ordered three more. (The three very first in the series, actually, because I keep convincing myself I’m going to get around to that complete reread.)
Also, The Sick Rose: or; Disease and the art of medical illustration. Because I’m into that kind of thing. You won’t be surprised to know I also tend to gravitate towards Cronenberg films. One of my favourite books as a wee fat robot was about the black death. I raided my grandfather’s Reader’s Digest and Illustrated Science for more delicious accounts of ebola and leprosy and bleeding eyes. Oh, and sharks.
That’s about a week’s fridge budget well spent, right? Who needs food when there’s an entire box of quality Lapsang Souchong to be had, anyway.