I may usually speak of my current job with contempt but I can’t deny the fact that it is, so far, the best paying job I’ve ever had. And one of the good things I do with my money, aside from pigging out with my best friend every payday, is buying books even if I hardly have anytime to finish reading one. This has been my itch since money started to come easy every 10th and 25th day of the month.
Currently, I am reading Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. I’ve had the book for at least one month now but I am still on chapter six. I really liked the book, though (pity to those who don’t), but I just have so many things to do. If I am not busy at work, I would be curled up in bed sleeping to regain my strength, or washing a two-week worth of laundry. As a result, books have been piling up on my friend’s shelf, most of them either still unopened or half-read like the Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins, Solitaire Mystery by Jostein Gaarder, An Instance of the Fingerpost by Iain Pears, and Life of Pi by Yan Martel.
Collecting books like the way I do is extravagant and also stupid, I know. But my only consolation is seeing them neatly arranged together with my friend’s collection. They never fail to put a smile on my face whenever I look at them, that is why I have no plans yet of ending my obsession. It makes me feel good just like the way basketball, DoTA, and vaginas define most guys’ happiness.