.and you will make sense of this

I went to a bookstore today. This was a mistake.

I actually went for a legit reason: I needed a calendar, and wasn't having any luck finding one at the bazaars. I had to go talk to my program manager today regarding my move and all of that, and I asked her where a good place to buy one would be. She suggested Raratet, which I suppose is a chain of bookstores across town. I only knew where the one by Ala-too square was, but she said there was another outlet closer to Peace Corps.

So, off I went on a hunt.

I admit to being something of a bibliophile. I love books, even when I'm not reading them. I never feel at home somewhere until I have a stack of books planted in my living quarters. In my new place, the books are all lined up on the mantel above my fireplace, and I love walking by and just looking at them. Even though the majority of them are things like "grammar games" and other sundry teaching aides, they're just so nice to look at. All colorful and full of words.

I had never been to the other Raratet, which was probably a good idea, since the first thing I noticed when I walked in was the smell. Oh, book-smell. Like dust and ink and wood and an eternity of patience and knowledge and mmm. My wallet made a little weeping sound, since it knew it was about to get pulverized.

I was the child whose parents would take her to Toys R Us, but never to Borders. Even before I left America, I remember going into the Borders outlet at Oakland Mall and having my mother go LAURA WE'RE NOT BUYING ANYTHING I MEAN IT THIS TIME.

I have a few specifications for my dream house. One, it has to have a porch. Preferably blue shutters, with some odd-shaped windows and maybe a turret. And it has to have a library. With a mahogany table and handsome leather-upholstered chair near the giant window in the back, as well as one of those one-and-a-half chairs with footstool upholstered in nubby chenille. And a dark wooded round table for my coffee.

I have Plans For Life.

But I did get my calendar. And a copy of Harry Potter in Russian, because, come on, what life-loving bibliophile could pass up "Garry Potter?" Even if I did spend more on it than all my groceries. Whatever. Shut up.

I mean it.