librarian dreams.

If my house caught on fire, I’d save my books first. I know I should answer the age-old “if you could only save one thing” question with, say, my dog or my roommate, but...let’s be honest, my books are way more flammable. And if we want to get specific, I’d snatch my Harry Potter set first—I interned at Bloomsbury Publishing in London and sort of snuck them home with me. I say “sort of” because I was allowed to take books, but I’m guessing that didn’t translate to, “Why sure, we’d be more than happy to donate a hardback set worth £115.00! Whatever suits your fancy, love!” Nonetheless, the books are mine, and I adore them.

I’ve always been obsessed with reading. As a kid, I would make my mom read to me in Dad’s comfy recliner way past my bedtime. Every summer, I participated in the library’s Summer Reading Club. In junior high, I won Outside Reading awards. In high school, I actually read a lot of the assigned books (which is saying something...kids these days). In college, I majored in English and minored in British Lit. Therefore, it should not surprise anyone that I spent the last half hour reorganizing a bookshelf.

When I pulled Under the Tuscan Sun—only two quarters, courtesy of the Friends of the Library program—from my bag this afternoon, I realized that I could justifiably revamp my Contemporary bookshelf. (I also have a Classics bookshelf and a Leftovers bookshelf, where I stash the unlikable school texts and those with ugly bindings.) Before shuffling books around, I started the Coldplay CD my roommate recently burned for me and decided that, gee, the scrumptious scent of a crème brûlée candle sure would be nice. I stood before the shelf, pulling books, replacing and moving them based on aestheticism. Can’t have white next to grey—insert color here. Hey this can be a need-to-read shelf! Hmm, short books together, or intermixed? I like it, I like it. I sat down on the couch, admiring my work. I leapt to the fireplace, to marvel from a different angle. I pushed and tugged books less than half a centimeter, convinced that such “vast changes” made all the difference.

As I sit here now, I can honestly say that my Contemporary bookshelf looks fabulous. Eclectic. Sophisticated and scholastic. In fact, I can’t stop looking at it. I highly doubt anyone will ever notice a difference, but, I know. And I know it looks good.