i have an unparalleled appreciation for book stacks, especially ones teetering over and remaining upright with impossibly unstable foundations and poor structural integrity. i’ve found they represent my state of mind best; if you want to know how i’m going, look at my book stacks and what i’m choosing to keep close, what i’m constantly referring to, and what books on the top that i keep picking up. look at what i’m gravitating to and finding comfort in...the books i’m stacking speak volumes. when i’m happy, distractedly so, my stacks will be organised and consist of a couple of sedaris essay collections, or possibly nonexistent. when i’m stressed, they’ll be collapsing with short swedish crime novels (an easy getaway for me). when i’m musing and spiralling around in my own thoughts, russian lit will be predominant, and harrowing memoirs or dark classics will make an appearance too. right now, it’s a mix of all that, because i’m an amalgamation of emotions currently, conflicted but happily so, and enjoying the confusion of my last months of high school before graduation and turning eighteen. i’m absorbing more and more in an attempt to learn more, and become a better person because of it, a person more equipped to face life and challenges and problems and all the icky moments. •
when i look at my book stacks now, i’m also proud of my reading habits and choices. people following me since starting this account in 2015 might remember my young adult days, and my reading of stock standard choices. now i’m more aware of my reading habits, more aware of the importance of reading diversely, and more aware of the power of the words you decide to indulge in. i have a long way to go (and a lot of classics to read before i start getting into more obscure choices...still haven’t read slaughterhouse five...) but i’m proud of my growth.
and all of this meandering reflection from just looking at a book stack on my desk! • - 3 minutes ago