I've been suffering from this chronic condition for most of my life. I think it started off with a now-battered, dog-eared and still-read BFG by Roald Dahl when I was eight. We recently built on a big, new room... the prospective bookshelves were part of the initial design to hold the then-overflow. Six months later, and much enjoyable accumulating, I'm thinking:
But I expect I'm not alone and in excellent Tsundoku company here... right?!
But I expect I'm not alone and in excellent Tsundoku company here... right?!