I refer to myself as a book hoarder.
I’ve loved books as long as I can remember. My mother likes to tell stories of me walking around the house as a small child (before I could read) carrying my favorite books and talking aloud to myself, making up stories to go with the pictures. Reading is probably my all time favorite hobby. It serves so many purposes: entertainment, education, enlightenment.
I happen to live with another book hoarder. My boyfriend is the only romantic partner I’ve ever had who loves books as much as I do (both of his parents were librarians). During one of my first visits to his house, I saw a copy of Great Expectations lying on an end table and I knew it was yet another sign that we were meant to be! Living with another book lover is great most of the time, but sometimes overwhelming. There are stacks of books on pretty much every flat surface in our house, in our cars, in bags we carry everywhere we go, not to mention the multiple book shelves we have plus more boxes in the garage...
There are definitely worse things we could have piled around our house, I suppose. To be honest, I often think of how lucky I am that I can stumble across something that gives me as much joy as finding a favorite book at a yard sale. I like to think I'm rescuing them, from being unappreciated, to a lucky spot in one of my many beloved stacks.
My work space