On pretty books and why I can't stop

Photo is mine.

Hello! Sophie reporting here. I hope you like this new platform.Today I'm writing something a little different from my usual reviews.

I've just come back from downtown.

I've got two new books in my bag.

My bank accounts hates me.

Photo is mine.
I have a problem with beauty.

I love books. Reading has always been a way to escape for me. Escape from the world, from responsibilities (yes, still now as a grown-up/adult), from very material problems, and most importantly from myself. Life is easy for me when I'm between pages and covers.

My life gravitates around books, and I think that for the most part, my parents are "lucky" not to have a daughter who is addicted to more dangerous substances (at least for the health).

Photo is mine.
Right, but here is the thing: I love beauty. And I love books.

So a beautiful book is an instant pull at my heart, like a magnet working against a metal spoon, and I want them, I need them, I have to hold that book, read the blurb on the back and instantly I fall in love (almost all the time).

And usually, I love those moments.

But it comes at a cost: 1) Money. I now have an internship grant, but this is so temporary that every time I take my credit card out there's that bitchy-inner voice that comes screaming at me. At the same time, another bitchy-inner voice shouts that I should enjoy while it lasts.

Both of them are right.

2) Room. I live abroad at the moment, and I left home with two suitcases and a few books. I'll be going back in two months with too much to handle, and I'm scared in advance.

3) Self-esteem. On the one hand, I love being surrounded with books. I love knowing that at least that way I'm not alone. On the other hand, I hate myself for not having any discipline.

Any thoughts?

Bonus: a picture of your tired blogger.


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