I think I just found a new incentive for why I'll want to aspire for a job that pays well. Besides the hope of affording a house with a backyard large enough for me to grow things in, I mean. (I suppose I could move to the middle of nowhere if that is my sole incentive, but it does seem to conflict, logistically speaking, with finding a job that pays well in my particular field of interest.)
Look at it. Gaiman's library. Although that is not the level that I'm aiming at (I am, after all, very pragmatic). I do want to be able to have at least one extra bedroom and install it with wall to wall and floor to ceiling bookshelves. It's getting a bit tragic how often I wander past bookstores now and force myself only to sigh and cast a longing glance before moving on. Quickly. (I'm convinced I'd be lured away by its siren calls if I pause in front of it for more than three seconds.) Perhaps this is what lovesick adolescent girls feel like. There is, however, considerably less stalking and crisis over self-image in my case, so I feel that I've got the better deal.
Dude. Books.
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