I don’t like to stress; I just don’t see a point. And while there are a lot of stressors in life you can not avoid, I like to believe you can decide if you are going to stress over them or not.
It occurred to me tonight that my biggest stress in life is my book shelf. Honestly, the only time I feel a sense of uncontrollable stress is when I pay attention to the number of books I have on my book shelf that I have yet to read.
Chelsea’s drunken antics, classics, writing guides, travel books from around the world, Paulo Coelho inspiration, Augusten’s childhood turmoil, and the most recent addition Drink, Play, Fuck — Andrew Gottlieb’s play off Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray Love — a birthday gift from K-Dawg.
Everytime I remember, or walk past, the shelf of untouched stories, I feel behind in life. I don’t know why reading affects me like this—I never feel stressed when I am behind in other aspects of my life, such as work, maintaining a clean household or keeping up to date with the ongoings of my nearest and dearest… but books… forget it. It makes me anxious to walk near the shelves.
Which is quite a shame because I have a damn cute bookshelf as well.
(Time to go pick up a book!)
Morning Eggs 
In Your Words