Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Poetic justice

It had to happen one day.

Ever since I first had a book to call my own, I have been pathological about not opening books too wide so that creases appear down the spine. That is why almost every book on my shelf looks as if it's hardly been touched; the rare creases can mostly be attributed to book-borrowers who didn't understand how very in earnest I was about not bending the spines.

But I knew it. It had to happen. Somewhere, sometime, the Crease To End All Creases would come along and shake my attachment to well-kept, pristinely uncreased book spines.

The very first time I open my brand new DSM-IV-TR, and...

This isn't just a crease, it's a crack. One that formed with an audible ripping noise that echoes through my mind till now.

Told you I was pathological about book spines. And of all the books it had to happen to...

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