Friends, I have sold out.
I have stooped so low that I am now using books as decor.
12-year-old me would be appalled. Never would I have thought there would be books that I would pay good money for that I had no intention of reading.
I’m still feeling a little guilty about this, but hopefully blogging about it will bring me some closure and assuage some of the crushing guilt I’m feeling.
Please see exhibit A, from here:
Just gaze at those books for a sec. And these, exhibit B:
It’s tough to resist those colors. They just draw you in–I rest my case. Now check out mine:
Mmmm. Love those colors. Now I just have to figure out where to best put them. And how to stop obsessing about them so I can actually blog about more substantial things. //ohwait,whoamikidding//
I got each of these for $.25 at my fave thrift store a while back. They usually come with VERY ugly cover wraps, which I give you full and enthusiastic permission to throw away asap. Underneath, they are quite nice.
Awesome.
Nope, I’m not going to read them. Unless the internet stops existing, or something like that, which I’m guessing won’t happen in the near future (but I’m really just spit-balling here). I’m justifying this purchase by telling myself I’m giving these books a new chance at life, even if it’s not the life they thought they were meant to live.
Someone please affirm this decor decision and make me feel better. I realize this use of books is a travesty. I even work in publishing.
And apparently blogging about this whole purchase is not providing me with the closure I’m craving. I need positive feedback. Go.
Planting Sequoias 