And I realized, this has to stop.  As I put my new books alongside my other new books...which had accumulated by the pile of books that I intended to read sooner rather than later...I knew I was being gluttonous.  I did not have time to read.  I couldn't keep up with all the books that I had.  It would take me months to read the unread on my shelves.  Enough was enough.  I declared a book fast.  (But I made sure to order "Margin" by Swenson on time management before the clock struck midnight on my fast.  This, I mused, would be the one book that I would need to get through.  Critical, I deemed it.)

It would be for three months.  From July 17-October 17, 2008.  I was determined.  I put it on facebook as a status.  That meant it was real.

"Meredith Pace has declared a book-buying fast.  She is dressed in sackcloth and ashes."

Another person was led to confess their struggle because of my vulnerability.  Together, we were determined to make it three months sober.  We would check in every month.

For first month, I was busy.  I didn't have time to think about it.  And I had all those new books to read and keep my mind occupied.  I checked in August 17th without a problem.  I had made some additions to my amazon.com wishlist.  Surely this was a healthy consolation.

During the last part of August, there was only mild bitterness when I was discussing a friend's newly purchased books.  They sounded good.  And helpful.  And like books I needed.  I was jealous.  But I repented and just added them to the wishlist.  

By September 1st I felt good.  I had avoided all bookstores.  There was no reason to walk into temptation.  There was only 1 1/2 months to go.  I could do this.

September 4, I was driving my normal route to work.  Then I saw it.  A waving white banner staked into the ground in front of Lewis Community Center.  Red block letters proclaimed, "Book Sale.  TONIGHT."

My heart started to pound.  My sleepy morning eyes opened a little wider.  I grabbed a swig of my Diet Dr. Pepper.  

Book Sale.  I knew what that meant.  

A gymnasium.

Lined with long rectangular tables.

Covered with row upon row of cracked spines.

Boxes of replenish books underneath the tables.

Fifty center paperbacks.

Dollar hardbacks.

Old men in Hawaiian shirts perusing the mysteries.

Cookbook lovers with funky earrings.

Middle aged women carefully reading the backs of romance novels, as if they're each different.

All for charity the sign said.  These were my people: Book lovers.  They were gathering together, reminding me that I am not alone in my passionate collection.

I would not go.  I couldn't.  It would be too much.  I sped up.

My day was uneventful.  I forgot about the book sale.  I was determined to keep the fast.  To use restraint.  I would not entertain thoughts of this event.  On my way home, I was fully aware of everything that I had to do that night.  As I was ordering things in blocks of time, my eye caught the full parking lot at the community center.  It was packed.  

No.  I will not go.

I drove past the center, my eyes lingering on the "Book Sale.  TONIGHT," sign.  My little Honda made some good progress.  She was trying to get away.  I couldn't see the center anymore.

Then I said to myself, "Who am I kidding?"  I made a u-turn.  Feeling better by the second, I swung into the parking lot and found a parking space up front.  Surely it was providential.  In three long strides I was in the door.  I will buy only what I can carry, I compromised.  The scent of crinkly volumes led me to the gymnasium. 

It was just as I had envisioned it:  Beautiful.