So I used to post book reviews on here a couple years back, but I decided that I did not love doing book reviews so I stopped. I do however like taking pictures of books all lined up in a pretty little row, AKA the shelfie. I think at the beginning of each month I’m going to share a photo of what my to-be-read bookshelf looked like at the beginning of the previous month, along with cover shots of any books I finished that month or at least made serious headway in. I might write a little about the books or I might not, but I will definitely be posting at least one traditional book review on my blog in the next few months because I just won an advanced reader copy of a book that I am so excited about, which will hopefully translate into being excited about writing the review for it once I’ve read it. Stay tuned for more bookish delightfulness.
I usually end up posting to here from the far left of my parents’ ’90s floral print couch that came from a yard sale 2 years ago for 10 bucks. But sometimes from the Starbucks a block away from school. And sometimes from my bed, if it’s after midnight usually.
But where do I write? I write everywhere, I am always “writing” in my heart and in my head, I physically scribble down thoughts whenever I get the chance no matter where I am. I spend a lot of time on the bus, so a lot has been written on buses and at bus stops. I write in class when I’m not paying attention to the instructor. I’ve even written poems in church, not because the pastor wasn’t doing a good job, but because he WAS doing a fantastic job and it inspired words in me. I like coffee, so I spend time in coffee shops, so I do end up writing in coffee shops. Occasionally my poems are inspired by my surroundings, like this one that I wrote about six months ago while sitting in Starbucks, called Poetry is like Breathing.
If I had a dedicated writing space, it would be a comfy chair surrounded by bookshelves packed full of books and a stack of comfy blankets and pillows within arms reach. I’d also have a coffee maker in the room and a fridge stocked with French vanilla creamer and string cheese.
And I’ve still got a ton of work to do. But it’s a start and it’s way better than the haphazard stacks of books that were scattered all over the room. I used to think that owning interesting books would make me an interesting person, it hasn’t really. I used to think reading interesting books would make me an interesting person, it has to some degree, but not as much as I thought it would. But I’ve discovered during the past 2+ years that I am intensely interesting to some and intensely boring to others. I find myself fascinating, so I guess that’s what really counts. Think I’ll get another set of shelves to stack on these because I’ve still got some books that won’t be able to call this set home, maybe invert the colors for the top set.
I’m in love with C. That sucks. I don’t know if he’s ever gonna come around again, but if he does I’ve worked it out in my head how to stay just friends. If he never comes around, I’ll be okay, I’ll miss him, but I’ll be okay. I’ve learned how to let go and recover, I might cry a little, I’ll write poems about him, maybe I’ll always love him with a little piece of my heart, but I’ll always love him, I know this. I hope he’s doing okay. I deleted him from my phone because I didn’t want to risk saying stupid things to him. He needs time to heal and maybe he doesn’t know how to be friends with a girl he’s into, and maybe he’s into me too, maybe. I don’t know if I’m right, but I think C picks a certain kind of girl, and he thought I was that sort of girl, but I am not. This thought brought forth a line:
Maybe damsels in distress who
can’t won’t save themselves shouldn’t be rescued at all.
I had a great day today. I hung out with H. Coffee, bookstore, sushi and saki. It was really great. H is weird, excuse me, creative. We were going to get Pink Ladies at Starbucks, they were all out, H was devastated. We got white mochas instead, his hot mine iced. He’s reading Almost Home by Jessica Blank, I’m reading Me Before You. I gave H Blue Like Jazz. H bought 5 books, I bought 3. H claims he’s not very bookish, yet he ended up with like 10 books in the backseat of his car. I got Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote (who apparently also wrote a book called In Cold Blood, which the bookstore lady described as a rather graphic crime story), Animal Farm by George Orwell, and The Taming of the Shrew (the No Fear Shakespeare edition). I don’t remember all of the books H got, but it seemed like a pretty good selection. I almost walked out with Message in a Bottle (Nicholas Sparks), but put it down in favor of picking something with more depth and street cred, hence my three final choices. H went pee in the bookstore, in the restroom of course. He texted me from in there – “It’s good to use the restroom here”. Apparently the bookstore has an amazing facility – the walls are wallpapered with book pages, it is beautiful. H treated me to sushi. I actually managed to kind of sort of use chopsticks okay. And I tried saki for the first time, not a fan.
After, I took the bus to my brother’s house and hung out with my family. That was really great too. I love my family. They are so weird, I mean, creative. I laughed so hard. I spent some time looking after my three little nieces, they are all so precious. Everyone said they were glad I came. My family hasn’t always liked me, they used to think I was stuck-up. I don’t think they think that anymore. We talked about taking over this town as a family. We’d have a coffee/burger joint, a bed and breakfast, a tow service, and I think an auto restoration service was thrown in there too.
And I decided I’m going to splurge on bookshelves for myself next month. Sometimes I refuse to spend money on myself, but this time I logicked this out and it makes sense to buy the bookshelves. I have tons of books, I have no intention of getting rid of any books (except occasionally giving one away to a friend, and then I’ll probably buy myself another copy of the book), I buy new books often (this week I got 10 total, I think, and I should be getting one more in the mail on Monday), books enrich my life, books widen my vocabulary, books help me process difficult parts of life, books are important to me beyond description. So my books should have a lovely place to call home.