I believe I drove about an hour yesterday to the only grocery store in Illinois that carries cans of Skyline Chili. I might be obsessive. About some things, anyway.

For instance: I’m a hoarder of books. Don’t worry if you’ve seen that TV show about people who have to have crews come and shovel out their houses. That’s not me. My house is neat most of the time. OK, not right now because we are still getting organized after coming back from vacation. And getting through tax season. These are separate posts, I think.

But I might be an obsessive collector of books, and here’s the proof: I couldn’t think of anything to ask for for my birthday except books. Books! I love you so. Never change.

Except you are. You’re changing. For about twenty minutes this week I thought I might cave and get an e-book reader as my gift. (My husband loves it when I want a gadget. Gadgets are where he lives.) But then I was trying to play with the Barnes and Nobel nook in the store, looking at a book I really wanted to read, and I had the overwhelming urge to drop the electronics and go pick up the paper book. I knew where it was in the store. I kept thinking, I could just go pick the real book up over there.

There were a couple of reasons why an e-book reader might be cool to have, but for the most part? I don’t have a single reason to carry up to 1,500 books on me at one time. Carrying one novel is usually enough.

Of course, Greg got me a gift certificate for books, so I’m about to add quite a few more than “a” novel to my stacks. Squee! I love to shop for books.

Yeah, I have a problem. I could think of more worrisome obsessions, I guess.

Like the chili one. That one is a problem.