Because I'm me, that's why.

Last week I bought a book that I should probably be less excited about than I actually am, and after you find out what it is, you may agree with me.  Now, before I tell you what this book is, I must first explain that I had been trying to decide whether or not to buy it for some time, ever since it appeared on the bargain shelves for a quarter of the original price.  The indecision took place for a couple of weeks and included the days leading up to Christmas.  (Before you say anything about someone getting it for me, I must say that it was not on the list and nowhere near anyone who would buy it for me.)  In all of that time, not a trip to the book store occurred without me having to look at it, thumb through it, and decide that I wanted it, but that I didn't really want to spend the money to buy it.  I tried to rationalize it by thinking, "Hey, Christmas is coming.  I'll get some money then and use it to buy this book.  Then all will be right with the world, and I won't feel guilty."  That was where I had left things, convinced that I would return to the store after Christmas and pick up the little dear.  Little did I know that I was wrong.

Christmas came and went, and with it came the expected monetary contribution to my wallet.  Shortly after coming back into town, I went to the bookstore, walked over to the shelves, and saw that the book was gone, and not only was it gone, but it had taken its four or five identical siblings with it.  It was then that I felt remorse for not getting it before Christmas.  It was then that I realized that yes, I had really wanted that book and all of the plans I had had for it were now smashed into unrecognizable pieces never to be put back together again.  I also had to admit that I only had myself to blame for my lack of possession.  (I also wondered why all five copies had been sold in the days leading up to Christmas since at the time no one seemed to have been remotely interested in them.)  Still, I did not want to give up, but as time passed, I began to lose hope.

Weeks after Christmas I was still kicking myself for not buying it, and weeks after Christmas I was still trying to remain hopeful.  I found myself continuing to cruise the bargain shelves every time I went into the store, hoping that the book would be there, ready to jump out and yell, "Surprise!  Take me home!"  Each time it was still gone, and soon I began to resign myself to fate, telling myself that it was just another one of those things that I'd let slip away, that there would be other books, and not to dwell.  Still, none of those words kept me from making careful examinations of the shelves, hoping against hope that I had somehow missed it, or that someone had returned a copy and that that copy was waiting especially for me.  

Then last week, everything changed.  I went to the bookstore, I cruised the bargain shelves, and there, sitting in the exact same spot that it had been when I had seen it last, was the book and its siblings.  I swear it seemed to say, "What took you so long?  Well, are you going to take me home or not?"  So I picked up the book, I flipped through the pages, and all the while I probably had a stupid grin on my face like I'd just won the lottery (and had there been no one in the vicinity I probably would have hugged the book and jumped up and down).  I quickly decided that today was the day and the book never left my hands as I cruised the rest of the store, paid for it, and left.  Now what, you may ask, is this wonderful book, this book that created this tale of regret, lost love, and joyous reunion?  It is Ship: The Epic Story Of Maritime Adventure, and it cost a whopping $10.00.  (Yes, you read that correctly.  All this for a $10.00 book.  I know, I'm a nerd.  I don't care.  I love this book, and I will read this book, and I will use the information within this book to better myself.)