The day before yesterday I went to the bookstore and didn’t purchase any books.
I stood in line with 2 books: Heavy by Kiese Laymon and a collection of poetry by Pablo Neruda entitled, The Poetry of Pablo Neruda.
I was indecisive about whether or not I should.
My internal dialogue was having a ball: It’s almost Christmas and you need to buy gifts for friends and family. You already have so many books you haven’t read. You can never have too many books.
I was in the middle of an argument with my Love through text and an author who I met had asked me if I was gonna buy her book. I was feeling guilty because I was in line and was not holding a copy of her work.
Buying books didn’t feel as good as it should’ve.
Which is an oddity. Im not sure I’ve encountered a time before when I felt the purchase of books was unnecessary.
Buying books is always necessary and appropriate . . .
. . . Except for the day before yesterday.
I was standing in line with 2 books ready to commit and I realize my wallet is missing. I could feel my heart plummet into my stomach and all the worst scenarios invaded my mind. I am thinking of my credit and debit card I keep in my wallet. I even started wondering if I bumped into anyone who happened to be a pickpocket. However, the way my account is set up, they would’ve been disappointed.
After tracing my steps i realized my wallet was in my book bag the whole. For whatever reason, that whole debacle seemed to shake me from literary induced slumber.
I put the books back and made my way out of the store as fast as i could. I hailed an uber and made my way home. I felt a sense of satisfaction at overcoming my usual knee jerk impulse to buy any and all books that might interest.
I felt it was maybe my best decision all day.
And if worst comes to worst, I can always buy those books on Amazon, yeah?