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I suffer from an incurable case of Tsundoku, it’s getting out of control

Let me introduce you to the whimsical disease that has befallen me, TSUNDOKU! No, it’s not some brain-twisting Japanese riddle; it’s more like a hilarious disorder that strikes book lovers like me. It’s an ancient Japanese art that befell me—an ailment that compels me to acquire books with great fervor, but alas, I become entangled in an eternal dance with procrastination when it comes to reading them.

I am the proud owner of a mountain of books I’ve piled up over the years. It’s like my personal book Everest! But fear not, it’s not just a hoarding problem; it’s a sophisticated form of literary appreciation! Yeah, that’s what I tell myself. So, let me enlighten you about my glorious predicament!

Whenever someone glimpses my vast collection, the inevitable question arises, “Have you read all these?” Ah, my dear interlocutors, that’s when I don my storytelling cape and embark on a little white lie adventure. “Oh, yes, of course,” I say with a knowing grin, but little do they know the hilarious secret hidden within these shelves.

Imagine me as a ‘tsundoku sensei,’ as depicted in text from the distant 1879. A teacher of books, if you will, who possesses an astounding array of literary wonders but finds solace in the bliss of unread pages. It’s as if each book casts a spell on me, whispering, “Thou shalt not read me today!”

I am the benevolent guardian of these untouched treasures, preserving them in their pristine glory for generations to come. Future scholars will marvel at my collection, and they shall say, “Behold, the Tsundoku Master!”

So, as you witness me surrounded by books, remember that behind this facade of knowledge lies a comical tale of my Tsundoku plight. And if you ever suffer from the same affliction, fret not, for you are not alone in this bookish comedy! Together, we shall embrace the art of Tsundoku and cherish our unread treasures with a whimsical smile. Let the books pile high, for it is our literary destiny!

I’ll hand down my “legacy” to my kids, who’ll struggle like Olympic weightlifters carrying my hoard. Gotta admit, one day I’ll have to Marie Kondo my life, or they’ll forever curse my name for the heavy lifting! My daughter’s all about minimalism – is she dropping hints? Unfortunately, my son has inherited my tendency towards Tsundoku, but his case is mild and manageable. When I’m gone, I can just see them dialing 1-800-GOT-JUNK. They’ll make a fortune hauling away my treasure trove!