admitting it is the first step...

My name is Emily and I have a problem.
[hi, emily]

I am no longer allowed to go to Powell's. I am completely incapable of self control when it comes to that sacred place, and have, with the help of friends and family, entered a twelve step program for compulsive book buyers.

Betsy: Do you want to go out tonight?
Me: Yeah, where?
Betsy: I was thinking of getting some coffee and then Powell's to look for a South Korea travel book.
Me: [cautiously] okay. I guess that works. I do need to get Rosie's grad present.

Sounds perfectly innocent. Not to dangerous, right? I can do this. Besides, I just spent a bunch of money last time I went to Powell's, so I'll have no problems this week.

Wrong.

At closing time, Betsy emerged untainted and lacking in a guidebook, while I slinked out with my arms full of Rose's book, Gatsby, Asher Lev, and Hemingway. [i have measured out my life in literature]

I have also reached that dangerous place of completing a book. Where do I go next? My entire being is being pulled in so many different directions on this sunny and [seemingly] carefree Saturday: Melville short stories? Uncollected Wodehouse? Philip Roth novel? Historical Mysteries? TonyEarley? LarryWoiwode? JamesJoyce?Hemingway?PlathPiperpotokfitzgerald...

my head a splode.