TBR

I don't have a TBR (To Be Read) pile. It's more like a TBR Library. The Rick Ollerman Memorial LIbrary of Books Begging To Be Read. I once read where a fellow calculated how many books he read a year, multiplied that by the expected number of years he has left on this planet, and came up with a depressingly miniscule total.

I have not the balls to do the same thing. Rather I believe firmly and with conviction that not only will I read every book in my library, not only will I read the interesting ones multiple times, but I will add to the stacks with books every bit expecting to be read.

The ideal hospital of the future will be able to kill the pain, keep the blood circulating, and somehow flash page images into the still animated portions of my brain that can actually read. My family can surround my bed, shake their heads, and wonder just what it is I saw in all that crap.

Lately I've begun to suspect that I may have accumulated enough material to actually have enough to read before I die. Mind you, I don't want to back this up with any attempts at mathematical certainty, but common sense dictates that with at least some moderate re-reading, I could likely be set until I'm summoned home.

Doesn't seem to stop me, though. I'm waiting for Ray Kurzweil. The only bad books are the ones that haven't been flung across the room yet. The rest still have potential.

How much is too much? Clearly, I'm the wrong one to ask. The actual limit may be when I can no longer build new shelves. That day, actually, may arrive sooner than I'd like.