Sticky books

I have an affliction.
Not a particularly bad one but definitely one that deserves some blog time. I have developed a habit of reading book reviews on the web, in newspapers, in magazines, people's reccommendations and then I write the title, author and publisher on a sticky note and put it in my handbag or filo-fax (totally 80s I know but I love the Filo organisation!). When I changed over bags the other day I had twenty-three post-its fall out, each representing a book that I intend to purchase and read. This is not including the five or so that are stuck firmly in my filo-fax.
I cannot throw them away. They represent more than just a good read. Each sticky note holds the promise of escapism and absorption, words on which to pack bags and get on a plane and step out the other end in an exciting and cultured location,(a sandy beach, an Egyptian tomb, a martini at Harry's with a handsome stranger...), the possibility of new friends and interesting passers-by that I can watch through the shaded veil of my sunglasses, the potential to live another's life for the duration of several hundred pages. They're not all fiction, some are travel, histories, a few biographies, perhaps a few Instructional Design or International e-Learning textbooks (in which I most certainly do not get "lost" in). But in most of the sticky notes I can be someone other than who I am. So I simply piled them on top of each other, sticking them neatly together to form a little book of sticky books, and then I put them back into my bag until the time that I actually manage to get to the book shop for a period of time longer than what it takes for me to grab a coffee and a copy of British Vogue and F1 Racing and actually buy the paper manifestations of my sticky books...