To Live in a Library

As long as I can remember, I have wanted to live in a library. Do you remember this book, where a brother and sister run away and live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art? My childhood fantasies were a lot like that. I would live in a giant but cozy public library, where by day there would be people and snacks and storytime, and by night, I would curl up on the window seats with stacks of books, turning page after page as late into the night as I wanted.

My library here is within walking distance and we usually go on Saturday mornings. I bargain with Steve over how many books I can have, promising him that yes, yes I will get to 4 books this week I really must have ALL OF THEM and this time I’ll totally write down when they’re due and turn them in on time, promise. He always gives in, knowing that lugging a bag full of books is far better than the alternative, which is that I will just buy them and they will end up stacked on our already-crowded window ledges. Since living in a public library presents insurmountable logistical challenges, I’m determined to have my own library someday. For now, I have a 400-square-foot apartment and a book-buying ban.