Hello, my name is — and I’m a Bookaholic.

My favorite hideouts have always been found nestled between the pages of a good book. There is nothing quite so thrilling as a new world unfurling and growing roots in the imagination. Characters shift from strangers to companions to confidants with each flip of a page.

I have been a lover of good (and sometimes not-so-good) books since I was in first grade. It actually came as quite a surprise. Ear issues and school transfers almost slated me for special education. My mother would not hear of it— and not because it would have made me less to be in a comprehensive development classroom. She just knew with that innate parent sense all I needed was a little extra TLC.

She was right. It wasn’t long before I was scouring the library shelves for my next Reader’s High. The feeling was addicting.

A small part of me honestly believes my love for books (and OK a slight shyness around males) blinded me to puberty for a good four years. My friends regaled me with tales of their romantic entanglements and I was all #immaletyoufinish, but #letmetellyouaboutthisbook.

Bookworm Problem memes seriously get me:

No. 37: Pronouncing a word incorrectly because you’ve read it hundreds of times but never heard it said aloud.

There is never enough space in your bag for all the books you want to bring with you.

#430 Having to find the perfect position that satisfies the right angle of reading while keeping your entire body warm under a blanket.

And, of course: Leave me alone to mourn the deaths of fictional characters I have become overly attached too. (I’d glare John Green’s way, but I’m pretty sure he uses our fiery stares to keep warm during these long, cold months.)

So, yeah, I’m a Bookworm. My idea of a good evening involves a book. If you add a good movie, some fellow geeky friends, and a bookshelf bursting with old favorites then the night is bumped up to fan-friggen-tastic.

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