Prove Me Wrong

I was wondering the other day how sometimes the time just seems to slip away... I go into the library with the best of intentions (which "never set a man free," i.e. they're not significant without action) and end up leaving an hour later with 7 books awkwardly exploding out of my arms and not having accomplished anything. Dang library system. They put bunches of related books into the same section so you just glance at one and then the next...of COURSE it's going to be way tempting. I'm obsessed with books. And more books. One of the greatest joys in my life are my BOOKS.

If only I could learn on my own time. I think I'd actually get a lot more learning done, really. Give me Tocqueville, Charles Taylor, Adam Smith, Thomas Sowell, Dinesh D'Souza, and C.S. Lewis and I'll be busy and happy for years. (Though I do confess, I fear that I would one day end up like my econ prof who lives alone in a house full of books. While I admire him for earning six degrees in everything from math to theology, t's certainly not my ideal...more like my greatest fear.)

So anyway, I have like, 30 library books in my room right now. No, I have no shelf space for them so yes, they are scattered on the floor and on my desk. However, I will tell you that I have skimmed probably half of them. ... No, no, that's a good thing. Usually they pile up and I never get a chance to open a single one of them.

Where am I going with all of this? I don't know. Books are addictive and that's it. If only I could stop time while I read.

The title of this installment refers to why I read, I guess. Learning/knowledge is my telos; I learn everything from books and they dispel my false ideas and reinforce the true ones.

At the same time though, the title could refer to my tendency to rationalize my bringing so many books back to my room. Maybe give me a good argument for leaving them in the library and save me from myself next time.

BLLAAAHHH.
It's late.