I've been told lately that I am a book snob and, well, I agree. Wait, dont' stop reading-let me explain. I'm obsessed with books. I have decided we all have a little part of ourselves that is OCD and mine has to do with books. I feel the need to buy every book I read and sometimes this can get me into trouble because I may buy a book and hate it and then what am I to do with the book? One option is to give the book to a friend, but why subject them to the lameness and stupidity of which I have just read. It's similar to when I taste something gross and without thinking turn to a friend and say, try this.
Meanwhile back to books and my OCD and quite possibly a little ADD. It pains me at times to lend books to people for fear that the book will come back looking used. Ridiculous I know. Books are to be read. And I do read and I even write in the margins of my books so I've come a long way thanks to my psychotherapist Dr. Shae. I am also partial to Penguin Publishing and hardback books, but I don't like the dust jackets.
So I've been thinking a lot about my reading habits lately and decided to read something new. Curious to know what happened? Don't be, but I'm going to expound anyway. The book was terrible and I joke that I could write a better book and I probably can't, but I guess that type of book is what America and the known world enjoys reading which means I must be some alien creature who belongs in, hmmmm, Russia? You may now call me Shellinskaya.