The Comment of All Comments

I started this blog for myself. I just wanted to write. I also wanted to break away from the vulnerability of having other people read my writing. Blogging seemed the perfect venue…I could put my writing out there for others to read without having to see their reactions. I thought that it would be read by the few closest people in my life… you know, my mom, my dad, Dave, maybe a few friends would take the time to read it. Time went on. I became aware of more people reading it and especially began to love receiving the comments people left. Yes, I realized I was perhaps a little more narcissistic than I had originally thought. More time passed and I became aware that people that I don’t even know were reading my blog. My head grew bigger. The thought that people that do not know me would take time out of their lives to read my posts was both humbling and thrilling. Really cool actually. I believe that for the most part these people have been told about my blog by someone I know, or someone who knows someone I know (you know – tell one friend, they’ll tell another and pretty soon everyone’s hair will be silky smooth and shiny!)

Although there only a few people who regularly comment on my blog, I sometimes will receive an email from someone I know with a comment. I love getting comments – again, there’s that narcissist enjoying the attention. Every time someone comments, I get an email telling me so. So the other morning when I looked at my inbox and saw the name of someone I did not recognize, I was intrigued. Who the hell was Sharman King? And how did he/she come across my blog? Apparently by something called Google Alerts (which I know nothing about). Upon reading the comment about “The Moleskine Notebook”, I realized Sharman King is from the Book Warehouse. A comment from a bookstore?!!!!!! Talk about making my day! I got so excited you would have thought President Obama had taken the time to read my blog. For anyone out there who is confused about my level excitement, let me explain…

I love books. I mean I LOVE books. The crispness, the smell of new a new book; the different textures of the pages; the spine that has never been cracked. I have so many books I could probably open up my own bookstore. Unfortunately I would never be able to part with any of them so I’d end up losing my shirt quite quickly. So with my love for books comes my love of bookstores. I can spend hours in a bookstore. I love looking at the walls of books, the piles of books on tables. There is something extremely comforting about being in a bookstore. I could spend all my money in a bookstore. And I happen to love the Book Warehouse. I stare at the window frequently as I often pass it while walking down Davie Street. I often go in, even if it is just to look and touch all those new books and dream of one day owning all of them.

And so….to know that someone from my favourite bookstore somehow found my post about my favourite notebooks and actually took the time to let me know…well, I believe this really is the Comment of all comments for me! And yes, my head has swelled just slightly bigger.