I need a library. Really I just need a room with a lot of shelves for books. The kitchen would work if other people didn’t need it to cook.
All my books from when I was born until 2010 are in Worcester: in the attic, on different shelves, on my desk and on my bedside table. Most books post-2010 are in Somerville: in the living-room, in my room on a shelf and stacked on my dresser. Some of the books post-2010 have made their way to Worcester and haven’t come back; some have done the reverse trek. A few lucky ones will spend the summer on the Cape.
I need all my books in one place. This became apparent the other day. I was reading an article online and it mentioned a humor writer. I thought to myself,
‘That book sounds great. I should buy it.’
I go on Amazon, click order and two days later it’s on my doorstep. I open it. I stare at it. Sigh. I have the distinct feeling I already own this book. I text my mom. Sure enough it’s sitting in on my desk in Worcester mostly read.
My mom texts,
“You must really like it.”
Something like that.