Sometimes I stand in my study, studying the books on my bookcases. Invariably these are my favourite authors/books. The right hand bookcase contains my poetry and classics collection, as well as several shelves of must read/to read/kinda in the middle of reading/just read. It's a complicated system. I turn around, often with a little sigh or frown attached. I look at the bookcase to the left of my desk: other favourite authors/paperbacks/1950's/60s/70s/80s/90s pulpfiction. It is a very complicated classification system.
I sigh again, and ponder, then glance at the shelves on the wall above my desk. These heave with artbooks/photography books/history/mythology/science/military/business. Mixed in with them are Unread. This section is simpler.
I will spin around several times, hands on hips, arms folded, glaring, frowning, sighing, thinking. This can take quite a while. It's a complicated process, requiring the right amount of physical erudition to match the internal consternation.
I wander out on to the landing, looking at the small(er) bookcase there. This is stuff/fiction/non-fiction/paperbacks/stored randomly bookcase. It has piles of books on top of it. This case also contains Unread, but with some In Progress. Still pondering. I crouch, I look, I pull some out and flick through. I put back.
I stand up, and go back through into the study again, pulling books out, glancing, reading a bit, putting back. I wander downstairs, grab a coffee/hot chocolate/glass of water.
I look at the kitchen/dining room bookcase. Travel/cookery/outdoors/travel writing/maps. Also some Unread. By this time I frowning, and tutting.
I sit in front of the bookcase in the living room, pulling photography book after photography book out, glancing, reading, pondering, cogitating. They go back in.
I sit back; thinking, frowning. I go back upstairs, coffee cup forgotten, steaming slowly to coldness.
I trapse back into the study; I look, I frown, I spin backwards and forwards. I pull books out, look at them, put them back.
I am getting grumpy. Quite grumpy.
There are some days when you know you want to read something, but you just don't know what that something is. And, invariably, despite looking, re-looking and looking once again, you really don't have whatever it is you want to read on your shelves.
I have a lot of those days.