Strange Complaints

The older I get the more I realize I will not succeed in my youthful ambition to read every single book in the world I can get my hands on. I’ve made a genuinely valiant effort, but to my surprise, they KEEP MAKING MORE BOOKS while I’m just getting older and slower in my reading.

The spirit is still willing mind you, as I’m currently reading a massive biography of the late jazz musician Sonny Rollins, an omnibus of classic Doctor Who stories, book five in a nine volume fantasy series as well as the brand new Louis L’amour release, which was posthumously completed by his son Beau.

There’s more waiting to be read, but you get the point.

My parents were big time readers. My love of Stephen King comes from my mother while my habit of always having a book with me (usually a mass market paperback sized one) comes from my dad.

Somewhere in my house is the last photograph of him which was taken at work and sent to my mother after he passed, which is of him sitting reading his book during some downtime.

I think that’s how I’ll be towards the end of my own life, but man I’m hoping to get a lot closer to my goal than I have so far, before I go.

Between the wife and I it’s likely that, other than the public library, we might have the largest assortment of books in the city.. perhaps county, even.

They’re not valuable books other than in sentimental terms, but what we lack in value we make up for in volume. Everywhere you go in our house you will see stacks of books piled here and there.

Have I read them all? God, no…

Do I plan to read them all? God, yes…

Will I stop buying more until I’ve read the ones I have? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, no…

Anyways, that’s probably enough chattering from me for a week or so. I’ll let you get back to your day and I’ll get back to this book on my lap..

P.S. No, you can’t borrow any.