I'm a very greedy person, about certain things, to the point where I find myself in awkward situations.
My family has always loved reading--my parents have a huge room in the house stocked with thousands of their books. I inherited this love from them - I love getting books.
Well, now it's getting to the point where I have too much to read. I have all those Victorian novels to read for English, I have three novels to review for Green Man Review, and another book on the way (a George R R Martin novel in a series I love, but I have to do it as an omnibus with the other previous novels - novels that are 600 pages long, or longer.)
Not to mention I have a gigantic list of books I want to read, culled from Locus and Entertainment Weekly reviews - none of them I've even come close to being able to read. I also have the Jasper FForde books, and the Neil Gaiman books, and all of my parents books which they are always insisting I read (Shogun, the Lord Peter Whimsys, Starship Troopers, etc.). And that's not even mentioning all of the classics (Dickens, Bronte, Austen, Falkner, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Revelations, Timothy, Acts of the Apostles...) that I believe I have to read if I want to have any respect at all in writers'-circles.
And yet, today, when my parents went to the bookstore, I tagged along and got them to buy me another one. Shinjuu, by Laura Joh Rowland. What is the matter with me? Well, I guess I know what's the matter. I simply can't bear to be left out of a "treat" situation, so I take what's offered without thinking about how good it is for me. I think I might even have to give up TV to finish reading all that I have to read. I might have to save up to buy another bookcase, or throw out some junk so that I can clear off another shelf to put them on. I might have to stay up later reading (and do it in a sitting position, I always fall asleep after reading one paragraph if I attempt it lying down) and wake up earlier to read (even though it annoys Sister #1, who sees my light under the door and thinks I'm staying in bed on purpose so that I don't have to go down first and empty the dishwasher - which isn't what I'm doing. I swear.) . I just don't know what to do - I never thought that I'd be in a situation when one of my favourite pasttimes has become a stressful burden to me.
By the way - my hit counter turns out to have been a good thing after all - I thought it would go up once, maybe twice a day if one of my relatives visited it - but close to ten people see it a day, even more sometimes. This also means that I must start writing in it with regularity, because I don't want to disappoint you dear readers, who, as it turns out, are most certainly NOT a figment of my imagination!