Sorry for the crazy moon language–they’ll take my sheepskin away if I don’t force Irish on you people now and again.  That bunch of nonsense means, "I have plenty of books, but I don’t have all that much time."  Not in a "this is the terrible way I’m telling people I’m dying" sense . . . I’m fine.  No tumors, no grippe, no typhoid.  But in a "the books I’ve yet to read are threatening to topple off the shelves and suffocate me" sense. 

I’ve been cataloging our library, and we have a lot of books I haven’t read yet.  A lot.  I don’t have a final count, but I have at least a year’s worth of unread books in the house.  I hope to finish cataloging our whole library within the next week or two, and then I’ll have a better sense of how much reading homework I get to do this year.

I’ve allowed something I read a few years ago too much power over me.  I can’t remember the source of the quote and I can’t find the book the quote is in (see suffocation-threatening books, above) . . . But the gist of the line is that owning lots of books you haven’t read yet is like a guarantee of a long life, because, of course, we like to believe we’ll live long enough to read all of the books in our libraries (and knit all of the yarn in our stashes).  It’s a wonderful sentiment, but it’s a ridiculous way to make decisions about spending or storage.

Meanwhile, several major bookstore chains aren’t treating their employees, authors, or customers very well, and that makes me want to stop giving them my hard-earned money. 

And, for some disturbing reason, many books end up in the waste stream.  As both a wacky environmentalist and a wacko defender of free-speech, that makes me downright nuts.  And people, I am crazy enough already–my crazy does not need extra fodder.  My books don’t end up in bonfires or trash heaps because I donate things I don’t want to keep to libraries or give them to friends.  But, clearly, other people discard books.  Boo that.

Also, well, I spend a lot on books.  When we were at our poorest when I was a little kid, books were the only things I had complete and open access to, thanks to our library and to my Mom’s magical ability to scrounge together money to buy us books.  To this day, walking into a bookstore and buying everything I want is like a drug to me.   I’d choose that luxury over any intoxicant in the world.  But I think at 33 I should be able to function without a security blanket, even one made out of books.  Because that’s a ridiculously uncomfortable woobie, my friends.  All pokey and paper-cutty and hard.

So considering my supposed dedication to supporting small, ethically-run businesses, reducing waste and consumerism, and preventing falling-book-induced head injuries, I’m making a pretty difficult resolution.  I’m not going to buy any books from any big evil bookstores this year, and I’m going to try to buy very few new books at all.  And I say that knowing that I have Border’s gift certificates at home, which I’ll have to find a way to deal with.  Here are my rules for myself:

1. I will try my hardest to read only books that are in my personal library this year. 
2. While I’m at it, I’ll try to read as much as I possibly can so I can burn through those stacks of unread books with a quickness.  To that end, I’ll watch less TV and I will actually stop knitting as soon as my arms hurt.  Crazy–I know–but I’m going to try out reason and restraint for once and see how it goes.
3. I won’t buy myself any new books from Borders, Barnes and Noble, or any other big scary corporate bookstore this year.   
4. Update . . . I’ll cancel my Zooba membership (done).
5. I’ll keep using my Amazon wish list as a tool to track things I want to eventually acquire, but that’s all.  Amazon is cut off unless they behave themselves. 
6. When I do buy books for others (or cheat–it’s going to happen a couple of times), I will buy them from small, privately owned bookstores whenever possible. 
7. I’ll also go out of my way to buy used books because it’s just plain smart.
8. I will learn to sing "Auld Lang Syne" really well.  (Ok, I know that has nothing to do with my book-buying habits, but I need to get it on a list somewhere.)  After singing it next year, I guess I’ll blow a ton of money at Powells.com at 12:02 a.m. on January 1 2008.
9. I’ll track whatever I do spend on books and try to donate an equal amount to a good literacy charity.
10. Each and every time I shelve a book I’ve finished reading, I’ll treat it like a little gold star for meee meee meeeeeeee.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again–my third grade teacher’s motivational tactics are ideal for my brain.  Thanks Ms. Kurtz.

Loopholes:

1. Knitting books do not count.  Yes, that sounds like a huge loophole, but I have very few knitting books, and I need patterns to keep knitting. 
2. If I read all of the unread books within 2007, all bets are off and I get to go on a crazy spree and reintroduce a book-surplus problem to my home. 
3. If I come across anything I hate within the unread stacks, I won’t make myself a martyr to it.  I’ll just give the darn thing away and pick something else to read.
4. I won’t treat reference materials as books that must be read all the way through.  Duh.  And I won’t require myself to read books of Scott’s that don’t appeal to me.
5. If Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill, Toni Morrison, Colm Toibin, or any of my other favorite favorites releases a book this year, well, I will not be held responsible for my actions.  But I’ll try my hardest to get the necessary books from small, good stores. 
6. I will, of course, accept books as gifts.  But I will make it clear to my friends and family that I prefer to get either used books or books from small, privately owned community bookstores whenever possible. 

I think that covers it.  Go ahead and start a betting pool about how quickly I’ll crack.  Just don’t torture me too much: I am weak.  I admit it.

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