I am bibliophile. At least I was. I used to work in a book store (sometimes it felt like I paid them to work there). My most recent job, the one I’m currently on a medical leave from, was at our local library.
bibliophile as defined by Miriam-Webster
~ a lover of books especially for qualities of format; also : a book collector
I loved my job at the library. I loved being surrounded by books and people who loved books. I took courses to learn more about books. It was heaven. Until I started having a “personality conflict” with a co-worker (commonly referred to by the law as “workplace harassment”). Unfortunately this “conflict” triggered the PTSD (and worsened it) and sent me spiraling into the dark abyss that I have spent the last 2 years trying to claw my way out of.
The connection to the library has caused one of the worst side effects of the PTSD I could have imagined. It has affected my love of books and reading. I don’t enjoy books anymore. I don’t like holding them. I don’t like smelling them. I don’t like reading them. I can’t walk into a book store or a library without having a mild anxiety attack. I haven’t enjoyed reading in ages.
This. Is. Killing. Me. Or it was, until this past Saturday. You see, Staples had Mini-Kobos on sale. Mike is a technophile and has been insisting for months that I need an e-reader. Being a book lover (book snob, or as my friend, K., lovingly calls me a book “Nazi”) I was adamantly against the idea of an e-reader.
They don’t feel the same as a real book. They don’t smell the same as a real book. They’re not as good. I was certain I did not want one. Mike was certain I needed one. So despite my protests he bought me one.
Sunday we loaded a few books on it and I started reading. And I read. And I read. And I read some more. I guess the fact that it doesn’t feel like a book or look like a book or smell like a book makes it the perfect book for me. (Mike was right, I did need one, but shhhhh don’t tell him).