Book Borrowing
One of the things that turns my friends into shifty-eyed, fidgety but stern-toned, little anal schoolteachers is this question I often pose:
"Can I borrow this book?"
which is usually met by a swift and trailing "I dunno..."
I don't fault them. I read books like I HAVE to destroy them. Dog-ears, annotations, highlighted words or sentences or full passages in permanent markers or crayons or graphite pencils (once, an eyeliner!) or just about anything BUT a proper highlighter, full-on audacious edits on paragraphs, drawings, curled covers.
One might play shrink and say I feel the need to mark my territory on a book when I go through it, but really, it's just simple and straightforward roughhousing. Who knows why I do it, but whatever it is, it must be the same reason I also give away books so freely, no matter how much I loved reading them. Sometimes even ESPECIALLY because I loved them.
It's that stupid quirk in my personality that I'm secretly hoping would be a romantic twist in another 500 Days of Summer-type movie where some dorky dude falls for a hipster chick yet again (for fuck's sake).
Earlier this year, I met a friend of a friend who happened to love the same books I did, and so I volunteered to lend her a couple of my favorite ones, even invited her to do with them as she pleased at no consequence.
I never saw this person again, and I doubt I ever will as our mutual friend has moved out of the country and I have lost all contact with them. As I remembered those books (Fight Club and Starship Troopers) a couple months ago, I felt something similar to the feeling I get when I see a 1,000-calorie chocolate Cinnabon that I can't afford to eat. I think it's called sentimentality. It was uncomfortable. And it made me sad.
I'm learning. I think. The last two books I read I used a bookmark. I read them without stretching out the spine, turned the pages like they were delicate papyrus, kept all writing equipment out of my reach.
It would take the involuntary and unexpected loss of two books for me to learn that a) it's true you only realize the value of something once it's lost (or maybe you're just one of those people who only want what you don't have, whatevs, same thing), and b) my anal friends are actually just normal people who value and respect their priced belongings.
There's something crazy open-minded. Respecting things.
And because hey, I claim to have an open mind, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
"Can I borrow this book?"
which is usually met by a swift and trailing "I dunno..."
I don't fault them. I read books like I HAVE to destroy them. Dog-ears, annotations, highlighted words or sentences or full passages in permanent markers or crayons or graphite pencils (once, an eyeliner!) or just about anything BUT a proper highlighter, full-on audacious edits on paragraphs, drawings, curled covers.
One might play shrink and say I feel the need to mark my territory on a book when I go through it, but really, it's just simple and straightforward roughhousing. Who knows why I do it, but whatever it is, it must be the same reason I also give away books so freely, no matter how much I loved reading them. Sometimes even ESPECIALLY because I loved them.
It's that stupid quirk in my personality that I'm secretly hoping would be a romantic twist in another 500 Days of Summer-type movie where some dorky dude falls for a hipster chick yet again (for fuck's sake).
Earlier this year, I met a friend of a friend who happened to love the same books I did, and so I volunteered to lend her a couple of my favorite ones, even invited her to do with them as she pleased at no consequence.
I never saw this person again, and I doubt I ever will as our mutual friend has moved out of the country and I have lost all contact with them. As I remembered those books (Fight Club and Starship Troopers) a couple months ago, I felt something similar to the feeling I get when I see a 1,000-calorie chocolate Cinnabon that I can't afford to eat. I think it's called sentimentality. It was uncomfortable. And it made me sad.
I'm learning. I think. The last two books I read I used a bookmark. I read them without stretching out the spine, turned the pages like they were delicate papyrus, kept all writing equipment out of my reach.
It would take the involuntary and unexpected loss of two books for me to learn that a) it's true you only realize the value of something once it's lost (or maybe you're just one of those people who only want what you don't have, whatevs, same thing), and b) my anal friends are actually just normal people who value and respect their priced belongings.
There's something crazy open-minded. Respecting things.
And because hey, I claim to have an open mind, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
Hi Nessreen, you have told me in the past about your ways when reading a book (you write in them, highlight, etc) & although we both share the same approach, there are times when the OC in me takes over. I become so careful in how I flip the pages, have a little notebook with me if there's a line or word worth jotting down - but then I think of you..'What would Nessreen do?' - then I'd break that spine and write little notes on the side with my favorite O.3 GTEC pilot pen, circle interesting quotes. I guess books are meant to be handled that way - it shows the reader's passion and every intention that he was really into that book. And I know how passionate you are about reading - I wouldn't mind borrowing a book from you just so I can see 'how' you read it :P
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