So call me crazy, but I'm convinced to my core that there's this legitimate thing called book therapy. You know that thing called retail therapy? I've never suffered from that..but I can pretty much state that, in a nutshell, there is relief found for me amidst a myriad of books on bookshelves early in the morning.

After one of the harshest study periods of my life (which took place yesterday afternoon until this morning at 12:14 a.m.), I was more than ready to pitch Bacon's Of Studying against the wall. Thank goodness I didn't, because I ended up having to write an essay on my final this morning. I'm the girl who loved British Literature growing up. Here in my final year of college... I can't stand it. Maybe because it's mostly Milton with some poetry thrown in every now and then. And based on the fact that it's mostly analyzing instead of intake of the poetry. Mhm, I did take that test this morning. I feel like irony consists in the fact that, after eight plus hours of studying and a written final, I go to find more ( non-school, 'tis true) books to clear my mind.

A few moments delightfully de-stressing as I breathed in the scent of "bargain" books, I began to feel better. I picked through Francine Rivers' latest, flipped open Lauren Conrad's Style book, and felt ready to conquer the world.
In fact, I felt so inspired that I had to come home and write a blog post.

I already know it takes time and words (and more often than not either a cup of coffee or tea or a few sips of fresh juice) to rest and rejuvenate my soul..but the funny thing is that, as I walked away from Barnes and Noble without a book in my hands (I'm thinking in the mindset of a moving girl who is currently in the process of downsizing), there were two brand new Agatha Christie novels I had recently downloaded onto my nook at home. I stopped short, nearly angry at myself. You see, amidst my desire to create laws to ban abortion and planned parenthood, I also have a desire to create a law that bookstores need to remain open. "We're killing the bookstores!" has been uttered more than once from my mouth. And while my mindset hasn't changed, maybe my approach to life has.

I've been learning the last few years that simple living is easily the best choice...and I mean simplicity in one's home. The less one has sitting around cluttering life up, the better. It's way too easy for me to say that, though- recently I'd been clearing around and about my savings box and discovered I, at the age of five, was a stuffer. After sifting around and about plane tickets, art projects, puzzle pieces (from who knows where), and mismatched socks, I had sorted that savings box into a neat little savings pile I could tuck into my chest.

But books. Ah. There's where I fail. I have a collection of seven or eight treasured old books from thrift stores, my own books, several devotional books + my Bible, grandma's books + her Bible + notes, Mum's journals, and my own "history" packed into twenty-two volumes... thus far. 

Because...I believe in book therapy. I like Agatha Christie for certain- but I don't treasure her work. Unlike a Francine Rivers novel (talk to me about Bridge to Haven, or The Mark of the Lion series and I will start gushing and tears will start flowing), or a devotional book, which I have to feel and read and pour over because I treasure their wisdom and words. There is a difference.

Oh. Perhaps that's why I left the bookstore empty-handed this time.
Either way.
I'm ready to go off and take over Social Justice with a new passion. Have I convinced you?