Littles Books

I can remember loving books since I was about two.  My mom would pull out a huge bottom drawer by her bed full of children's books and set me in front of it, while she left to do chores around the house.  I browsed through them loving the pictures and the act of turning the pages, and later would pretend to read, something I wanted.

For a while in college I worked in the library.  Learning instructions was difficult but I loved cataloging and putting away books.  Being surrounded by bookshelves has always been comforting to me.  Once while shelving books in the children's section, I recognized a book from when I was little.  Something shifted in my head and things were fuzzy for awhile, and then I blinked to find myself sitting on the floor staring up at the head librarian.  She looked incredulous.  I looked down at a children's book open in my lap, and at the floor around me scattered with children's books.  After a guilty moment I hastily said "I came down here and these were all out of order, I'm trying to organize them."  "Uh huh" she said, thoroughly unconvinced, and walked away still looking a bit dazed.  I scolded myself that I needed to pay better attention on the job, a message I was always telling myself in nearly every area of my life.

It is one of my goals to collect books for my younger alters that they like.  I still prepare myself with a little story whenever I buy one or check one out, 'For my niece' or 'For a little girl I know'.  But so far no one has questioned me buying coloring books or little toys.