Yes, we all know about the classic addictions to coffee and social media. But there’s a more serious affliction that no vitamins or yoga can cure: an excessive love of books. It’s that moment when you open a book thinking, “just one chapter,” and hours later you realize you’ve learned more about Terry Pratchett’s magical world than about real life.
It all starts quietly. First, you pick up one novel from the shelf. Then another. And soon your library begins to look like a miniature literary festival, while your cat stares at you strangely because you already have three bookmarks in pages you can’t even find after your fourth cup of tea.
The new year always comes with promises: to read more, to get organized, to start fresh. But the books laugh at those promises. The “just one book a day” plan quickly turns into an epic adventure with piles of volumes covered in colorful notes and quotes, supposedly meant to motivate you, but really just making you laugh at your own ambition.
The funniest part is when you start applying what you’ve learned from literature to real life. You try to convince a colleague that the more metaphors they use, the more effectively they’ll start the year. Or you explain to friends why it’s useful to implement a “point system” for all New Year’s resolutions – and to count it as a personal literary report.
And yet, books have their moments of triumph. When you manage to have a genuine conversation using a quote from Dostoevsky – and someone actually laughs – you know the new year has started intellectually on the right note.
In the end, an excessive love of books is more than just reading. It’s a way of life, a small daily drama, and an ongoing joke all at once. And if anyone asks why you have a pile of half-read books on your nightstand, just smile and say: “New year, new chapters.”