Books Books Books

Someday I am going to die by being crushed in a book avalanche and people won't find my body for years and then they'll only discover it because someone decided they wanted to read Anis Nin.

I'll die happy.

I had to go to Borders today. I try and avoid that place, me in Borders is like cokehead in a crack den...things will only get worse. I have an audition this weekend for "All My Sons" and since I don't have a copy of that one in my collection anymore I figured I pick up a paperback and re-read it to prepare.

I started at Waldens, where they do not actually have a section reserved for plays or scripts but rather three rows of shelves labeled "Fiction" filed alphabetically by first name. By first name except of course Arthur Miller who I found between the O's and P's. In fact I barely found him, they had one Arthur Miller book - Death of a Salesman - one copy. I asked around but if the cover didn't have Justin Timberlake on it I'm sure the register girls there wouldn't have any idea what I was talking about.

So off I went to the mega-book deathmart that is Borders.

I used to be in awe of Borders. I would walk from my little retail job everyday, forgo the needed food, and wile away my hours in the shelves of Borders, blissfully lost in the labyrinth of obscure books that no one really wants to read. I used to spend every spare penny there. I lived for two months on energy bars and red bull that was 50% off to us GNC employees just because I spent all my food money on books. Oh books how I love you.

There was another store that was like that too when I was growing up. "Friends of the Library" where they sold old books Libraries were trying to discard and then giving the money back to system. Books there were ten cents a piece. My Parents would spend hundreds of dollars there everytime we visited. I'm not kidding. $50 for me, $100 for dad, $50 for mom. Books books books.

So I went into Borders with a mission...I would get my script and leave. I would not be distracted, I would not go any further that the Drama section, I would not be lured by the pretty sig...ooooh Sylvia Plath's letters...

I was screwed. I came away with the big bag, but I did get my script.

And I feel justified. I make money too. My husband spends large sums of money on tires and knick-knacks for the cars. I can spend a few dollars on my little growing library.

Now I just need to buy a few more shelves...

Mmm, someday I'll die under an avalanche of books and no one will ever find me.