I am convinced there should be a word for this.
The feeling of extreme disinclination to return ones library books.
The very strong feeling that said books desire to live right where they are currently placed. Even if that place is a teetering pile on the dresser. That they are happy, indeed content, living in ones bedroom, sharing in the family life.
My books (all 53 of them, unrenewable) were due back two minutes ago, and I am in mourning.
Not so much for the adult books, (no, not Adult, adult, just not aimed primarily at munchkins) but the munchkin books.
Over the last two, okay, maybe three, months the books have become much loved members of our family. What will we be without Sebastian Lives in a Hat (written about a wombat from 'our' very own local National Park and signed by the author), But Excuse me That is My Book, The Gruffalo, The Egg, Diary of a Wombat?
Bereft. That's what we'll be. Broken-hearted.
Lacking in essential members of our family.
Truly, there should be a word for this. And I don't mean covetous. Or hoard-y. Or fined.
The word should be long and weighty. With a biblio in there somewhere.
Something that gives validation to the sense of longing and angst. Existential angst? Maybe just angst. And maybe a little wave to the niggle of excitement about the possibility of the new books. (Although how could they truly replace the old books in our hearts...) And maybe containing a nod to having to carry 53 books to the library... I think that's two, possibly three loads.
Who's with me, there really should be a word for this, shouldn't there?
Or is there already one, and I'm behind the times (... although I hate to think I'm living in ignorance, surely it is such a commonly felt emotion the word is out there... somewhere... ) do let me know.
The feeling of extreme disinclination to return ones library books.
The very strong feeling that said books desire to live right where they are currently placed. Even if that place is a teetering pile on the dresser. That they are happy, indeed content, living in ones bedroom, sharing in the family life.
My books (all 53 of them, unrenewable) were due back two minutes ago, and I am in mourning.
Not so much for the adult books, (no, not Adult, adult, just not aimed primarily at munchkins) but the munchkin books.
Over the last two, okay, maybe three, months the books have become much loved members of our family. What will we be without Sebastian Lives in a Hat (written about a wombat from 'our' very own local National Park and signed by the author), But Excuse me That is My Book, The Gruffalo, The Egg, Diary of a Wombat?
Bereft. That's what we'll be. Broken-hearted.
Lacking in essential members of our family.
Truly, there should be a word for this. And I don't mean covetous. Or hoard-y. Or fined.
The word should be long and weighty. With a biblio in there somewhere.
Something that gives validation to the sense of longing and angst. Existential angst? Maybe just angst. And maybe a little wave to the niggle of excitement about the possibility of the new books. (Although how could they truly replace the old books in our hearts...) And maybe containing a nod to having to carry 53 books to the library... I think that's two, possibly three loads.
Who's with me, there really should be a word for this, shouldn't there?
Or is there already one, and I'm behind the times (... although I hate to think I'm living in ignorance, surely it is such a commonly felt emotion the word is out there... somewhere... ) do let me know.
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