10
Bookworm Problems

Your library holds all come in at the same time. You have reached your limit on library checkouts, but nine books are waiting for you on hold. You must decide which books to let go of to remain in the library’s good graces.

You check out more library books than you can carry. You check out more library books than can fit in your tote bag. You forget your tote bag. You visit the library in rain that’s coming down so hard your tote bag is powerless against it. You don’t live next door to the library anymore, so you don’t pick up your reserves every day. You don’t pick up your reserves for a week, and your stack is enormous. You pile the stack in your passenger seat, and your car yells at you because it thinks you have an unbuckled passenger.

You take five books to the pool because you can’t decide what to read next. You can’t comfortably manage your purse because you shoved three books in on the way out the door, unable to decide what to read next. You pack twelve books for a five-day vacation because you can’t decide what to read next.

You’re in the middle of a great book, but you need to go to work. Or to dinner. Or to bed. You’re in the middle of a great book, and you forget to eat dinner. You keep reading “just one more chapter” until 2:00 a.m., and you cannot keep your eyes open the next day.

Your favorite book becomes a movie, and you’re terrified to see it because you’re fond of the way you picture the characters and hear their voices in your head. They make your favorite book into a movie and delete your favorite scene. They make your favorite book into a movie and it’s terrible.

You are one-third of the way into a good book, and you realize you accidentally purchased the abridged version. You realize halfway through a book that it’s part of a series, and you inadvertently began with book four. You finish a book with a cliff-hanger ending, immediately look for the next book in the series, and realize the author hasn’t even begun writing the next installment. The anticipated publication date is four years away.

After much anticipation, your favorite author’s long-awaited new title finally comes out. It’s terrible.

Airplane travel is required, yet the airline frowns on you lugging the crate full of books you typically stash in your trunk for road trips on board.

You realize halfway through a boring flight that your new ebook purchase didn’t download. Your Kindle battery dies halfway through a long flight. Your Kindle battery dies right when you get to the good part.

A delivery truck falls over in the middle of Pennsylvania, and your books are on it. An ice storm incapacitates the shipping hub in Dallas, and your books are in it.

You finally persuade your friend to read your lifetime favorite book. She gives it three stars. You persuade your husband to read one of your favorites. He pronounces it “fine.” You cannot, no matter how much you beg, plead, or wheedle, convince your book club to read your favorite book. You cannot, no matter how or what you try, persuade your child to read your favorite childhood book. You convince your child to read your favorite childhood book, and he begins, but then says, “I just can’t get into it.”

Your To Be Read list holds 8,972 titles, and you want to read every one. Your TBR list is unquestionably too long to finish before you die. Your TBR list is longer than your arm, but you still can’t decide what to read next. You have countless unread books at home, yet you feel like you have nothing to read. You have countless unread books at home, but the only book you’re in the mood to read won’t be published for six more weeks. You have countless unread books at home, but you can’t resist buying one more.

You don’t know how to pronounce a character’s name, and you can’t truly know the character until you know for certain you’re saying the name right. You want to tell the world about a great book you read, but you don’t know how to pronounce the author’s name. You want to tell the world about a book you loved, but you fear your friends won’t be able to see past the terrible cover. You want to tell the world about a book you loved, but the title is stupid. You realize midsentence that you have no idea how to say a certain word out loud, because until now you’ve only said it to yourself, in your head, while reading.

You fall asleep reading, and you wake up hours later with a terrible crick in your neck. You’re reading in a moving vehicle, and it’s making you queasy. You consider switching to the audio version, but if you do, it will take you much longer to get to the ending. You keep reading.

You decide to buy a book, but the only edition available is the movie tie-in edition. You want to buy a friend a Drop Caps hardcover as a gift—one of those gorgeous, expensive classics with the monogram on the cover—but the one with their initial is a book you both hated, or the color is brown. Your bookstore is having a three-for-two sale. You easily find the first two, but you cannot for the life of you decide on a third book. You buy nothing. You regret it later.

You find yourself alarmingly invested in the lives of fictional characters. You refer to fictional favorites in conversation as though they’re your friends, and your real friends don’t know who you’re talking about. Your explanation puzzles your friends. You know you refer to a favorite book irritatingly often, but you can’t stop.

Someone asks you to name your three favorite books, and you can narrow your list to only five. Or seven. Or seventeen.

You can’t put the book you just finished behind you because you still want to live it. You have a terrible book hangover, and it lasts three days. Ibuprofen does nothing for it. You’re sad because whatever you read next can’t possibly be as good as the book you just finished. You despair because nothing you read can possibly be as good, ever again.

You finish an amazing series and need to grieve that it’s over. You need to mourn the loss of a beloved character. You wonder why these events have no cultural markers, because you definitely need one.

Your home is a disaster except for your bookshelves, which are immaculate. Your house is a disaster because books cover every surface. Your house is a disaster because a clean house is a sign of a misspent life, and you spend yours reading.

You’re at a killer used book sale and can’t remember if you already own a certain title. You decide you do and come home. You were wrong and regret your lost chance. You decide you don’t and come home and shelve your newly purchased third copy. You accidentally buy two of the same book at the book sale.

You have more books than shoes. You have more books than bookshelves. You do some quick math and realize how much money is tied up in your book collection. You suspect your books equal the gross domestic product of a small nation.

You accept that it’s time to cull your personal library. You lovingly handle each book, determining if it brings you joy. It does. They all do. You are full of bookish joy, but still woefully short on shelf space.