me too. and my immediate thought then, and still is, is "how can someone NOT want to?!?"

They are completely insane. I don't know why they are so sick. They need help.
People make fun of me for doing that, then complain about me winning Scrabble and Quiddler because I know words people have never heard of. "Listen, maybe if you REALLY cared to win, you'd crack open the Webster's once in awhile too...?"
Actually, the winning is extra. The learning is what counts! *cough*
Gawd, I forget how much money I shelled out for my hardback DSM-IV on half.com.
but you did cause me to realize i need a book shelf in my bathroom.
Then my work here is done! Ha!
right now, i've got my crime library encyclopedias, please understand me II, a few other psyche books, and about forty of my archie comics in there...
Crime library, wheee! (Let's all read three books on why Scott Peterson murdered his wife and everyone knows he is a cold-blooded amoral killer, and why some other numbnut insists he is completely innocent...) You can call it the "Albert Fish Memorial Bathroom Library."
(and good god, i'd like to read all of that)
Beg, and perhaps I shall be nice.
one year, i decided to have a yard sale, and filled tables with books that i knew damn well i'd never read again. they weren't 'up to snuff' information or credibility-wise. then as people started buying them, i panicked and ended up taking them all back inside. why? two reasons. one was a nagging suspicion that they wouldn't really appreciate them properly and secondly... "just in case"

No comment. <mumbles to herself>
But it's such a GOOOOD sickness...!
when they start describing a bush that has absolutely nothing to do with the story line, but is meant to make me feel like i'm 'there', then i skip, skip, skip, until i get to the relevant part again while mumbling, "fucking BUSH... who gives a shit??"
I find myself doing that without realizing it -- usually it's a matter of skipping over the two pages of city biography or other plot-unrelated information meant to establish setting. (Or the entire chapter "The Muster of Rohan" in Tolkien's "Return of the King," for example.)
It really bumps up my pph (page per hour) ratio.
Late yesterday my ISFJ wife was doing triage on our storage closet, which (being one big-ass closet) has one 8x16-foot wall covered with bookshelves, which are full. Many of these are relics from the time I worked at TAB books, and include such titles as Kitplane Construction, Stitch-and-Glue Boatbuilding, The TAB Circuit Encyclopedias (hardcover, large format, volumes One through Seven), Sand Casting with Copper and Brass, and Rebuilding Ford Flathead V-8s. I've got a number of titles on application software which I edited myself.
Thank you for reminding me I need to purge the waterlogged bookshelf in the basement.
("It Is Time! Time! TIME!" And the giant stood up...)
And here's my wife standing there holding Concrete Construction for the Homebuilder and telling me "We've moved this book three times and you've never read it. Why should we keep it?"
Titania never really did understand the value of books except as door stops and furniture props. (But she bakes a mean wheat germ brownie! ...At least, they were always mean to me...grimace.)
I've got this feeling like invisible spiders are crawling all over me. I want to say "This closet was standing here with its door shut, not bothering anybody, and it's been fine for ten years. Why do you have to fix it if it isn't broke?!?"
It is hard when reality crawls all over your body with tiny spider-creepy-crawley appendages, isn't it?
I really may one day rebuild a Ford flathead V-8, you know.
Oh, I believe you. [That one day you MAY rebuild one.]
Right after that book about Web Resources you and I try to sell once upon a time finally gets published. ("After all, it isn't a matter of if, but when...!") What was the name of our little collective: "Audacity R Us?"
*poke poke*
