Membrealopekis

Ever since I was a child, I've had a dream home. My dream home probably includes bedrooms and bathrooms and a kitchen and other such necessities, but I've never really thought about it; the only thing I care about in my dream home is the library. This is a fairly useful metaphor for my life.

I love owning books. I use the library, but half the time I end up buying the books I borrowed. I can't throw books out or give them away- I still have every single college text I purchased, with the exception of Intro to Chemistry (I dropped the class three weeks in, so it doesn't count). My library includes books I don't necessarily care for now, but which remind me of a time when I did- stuff from my early-teen fantasy phase, my mid-teen romance phase, and my late teen sci-fi/space opera phase, among others.

I'm in my 40s, live in Minnesota, and am happily single. What free time I have that isn't spent reading is usually spent playing with my electronic gadgets or hanging out with my sister and her family. I've been reading since I was two, and the first 'grown-up' book I attempted to read was Bradbury's 'Something Wicked This Way Comes.' I was five. (I didn't understand it, thank goodness- talk about potential trauma.) I've spent most of my life so far with my nose stuck in a book, and I don't imagine that will change much in the future.