I`m not even shopping for books in advance: I`m shopping in advance of advance shopping, which means making a mental note of everything I want, in advance of making a physical note of everything I want, in advance of purchasing it. That`s two stages removed from shopping, which is probably the furthest I`ve ever got. I`ve been browsing for accessories, even after I`ve already bought accessories. And the excitement - the stomach clenching Oh My God I Will Have Every Work by Dickens Right With Me All The Time, Like Seriously All The Time excitement - is making it difficult to function. Every time I try to speak to people, all I can think is: That includes A Christmas Carol. I`ve not read A Christmas Carol. I`ve always wanted to read A Christmas Carol. Which means that I block out the actual conversation I`m having and end it by staring in to the middle distance and muttering to myself about Tiny Tim. I`ve even cleaned my house, so that the Kindle feels nice and welcome. I don`t want the Kindle coming in to a mess, so I`ve arranged a nice chair, with a nice table, and a nice space on the nice table for the Kindle to sit on and feel happy and at home.
Worse, I`ve just - and I`m a little bit ashamed of this - stolen a piece of black card from the staff stationary cupboard and cut it into the shape of a Kindle with precise measurements so that I can make a little Japanese silk holder for it before it arrives, because I have a sudden almost uncontrollable desire to sew something. I`ve also practiced holding the card so that I get a feel for the size of it; a couple of times I`ve actually put the piece of cardboard into my bag and then pulled it out again with a flourish, pretending to show somebody with shy and yet tangible smugness. And, when that grew a little dry, I decided to actually show somebody. Regardless of the fact that it hadn`t arrived yet.
"Look," I told Harai.
"It`s a bit of black card."
"Yes. But look, isn`t that a great size?"
"It`s a bit of black card."
"But next week it will be my new Kindle."
"Ok. But now it`s a bit of black card."
"Use your imagination, and don`t be rude about my black card."
"Okay."
"And then next week you can hold it if you want."
"Ok."
"But only if you promise not to drop it."
"Ok."
"Do you want to hold it now?"
"No. It`s a bit of black card."
"Ok. You think I`m a bit mad, don`t you."
"Always."
And all of this would obviously be extremely worrying if I hadn`t just come to one, alarming conclusion:
I`m finally nesting.
I`m nesting for a Kindle. I`m 29 and while I`m by no means ready for a baby - or in a position to have one, get one or keep one, which is handy - clearly something biological has started happening to my chemicals, because now I`m nesting for a piece of electronic equipment. Preparing, fluffing, protecting, readying myself. Talking about it to anyone who will listen, thinking about it when somebody else is talking. Getting my surroundings perfect, just in case. So while I am going bonkers, it`s a relief to know that at least it`s in exactly the same way that most other female 29 year olds go bonkers: a predestined, natural kind of bonkers. A chemical kind of bonkers. Except that I`m doing it for a bit of plastic and not a human being, which makes it a little more concerning. Or less. At least this way I`m not roping anybody else into my mania, or prowling the streets looking for somebody to become co-owner.
According to delivery times, I`ve got another five days to wait, and it`s becoming uncomfortable. I just want it to arrive, now, because I`m anxious to see just how long I can keep this thing functioning before I break it, lose it, lose interest in it or decide that I hate it and give it to somebody else. Because maybe if I practice and practice and practice, then when I eventually get a baby I`ll have learnt how not to break it, lose it, lose interest or decide that I hate it and give it to someone else.
And the Kindle? If it`s lucky it`ll be the first in a long line of things I learn to look after properly.
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