So today I finished the last of my psychology studies for my Psych 1000 class....thank goodness they're done. Most of the studies I've taking have consisted of rating emotions, remembering words and pictures, and other such things. However, the last section of this particular study held a pleasant surprise--a writing section! Yes! Finally, something that didn't include hitting buttons and staring at a computer screen! I had 15 minutes to write on this prompt-"Please describe an emotionally pleasant experience you have had within the past month or year." I immediately got to writing and barely finished within the allotted amount of time...and didn't get to go into nearly as much detail as I wanted to. So, I've decided to re-create it here and add as much stinkin' detail as I want! So, please enjoy the following pleasant experience. Psychologically evaluate it as you wish. 

Ever since I arrived in Columbia three months ago, I had decided that I needed to find a good used book store. What better time to begin to build up my library than in college? Last Wednesday was a particularly beautiful autumn day: the weather was just at the point where it could be cold, but at the same time could be the tiniest bit warm. The trees had burst into beautiful yellows and fiery reds, and the sky was an electrifying azure blue color. It was the perfect day to find my used book store. After classes, I ventured down 9th street into the heart of downtown Columbia. Not long after I had begun my search, I ran across a small, hole-in-the-wall looking store called "Get Lost". I pulled the door open, and the smell of musty, old books blew out at me: I knew this was a good start. The entrance to the store sloped down, and I descended into the shelves. The store wasn't that big, but there seemed to be thousands of books crammed into the small space. It was almost absolutely silent, with the exception of jazz music playing softly in the background. It was almost a reverent silence, honoring the great literary works residing on the shelves. It was exactly how I thought a used book store should look: books crammed artfully and haphazardly onto every inch of shelving, random potted plants scattered here and there, and various stacks and piles of books lurking around every corner. I felt right at home. 

Used book stores arouse a very curious, imaginative feeling within me--perhaps it's the possibility of finding that life-changing book, or the poetry collection you've been looking for for who knows how long, or just the excitement of getting a new book. There were two particular things I was searching for that day: the first was something to add to my Jane Austen collection. I'd considered trying to find a collection of all her major works, but what's the fun in owning one big book? Having a shelf full of lots of small books is much more pleasing to the eye, in my opinion. Today I was looking for "Emma". I started at the end of the fiction shelf, which took up the entirety of one of the four walls of the store. Almost immediately, I found several copies, and selected the oldest-looking one I could find. "There. One down, one to go." 

The second book was going to be a bit harder to procure: I wanted a first or second edition of "Through The Looking Glass" by Lewis Carroll. Why, you may ask, would I want this particular book? For those of you who have read it, it is rather warped; nothing at all like the Disney movie. However, Alice in Wonderland was one of my favorite stories when I was young, and still is to this day. To me, it is one of the most perfect expressions of imagination. Plus, who hasn't daydreamed of falling into a magical world where cards paint roses red? :) Finding the edition I wanted was going to be difficult, but I was up to the challenge. I must have spent an hour searching that small store. I'm not really one to ask for assistance; I like doing things on my own. 

However, my searching yielded no results. Finally, I gave up and decided to be content with my Austen. I proceeded up to the counter, where a young man sat, completely engrossed in his copy of "Anna Karenina". After a few seconds of me standing there, he looked up, a bit startled, and smiled. As he proceeded to hand-write up my receipt, something under the glass counter caught my eye: there it was. A first edition copy of "Though The Looking Glass". How ironic, that I should have spotted it through a looking glass...The man behind the counter caught me gaping, and smiling, he pulled the book out from under the counter and handed it to me. 

It was the most beautiful little book I'd ever seen. The hardback cover was a bright turquoise color, slightly faded by age, with deep red inlay. Little playing card symbols were inscribed in the red, and the binding had three gold strips on the side. I opened the book, held it up to my nose, and breathed in the musty scent of old book--it was glorious. I knew this was the one. 

It was beautiful.

It was perfect.

It was $75. 

My heart sank as I read the price tag, and I reluctantly handed the book back to the sales clerk. He handed me my purchase and wished me a good rest of my day. 

As I walked out of the store and breathed in the crisp autumn air, a tiny whisper of hope stirred within me, assuring me that one day, that beautiful book would be mine. 

I now have a small turquoise paint can sitting on my desk. Written in red on the side of the can are the words, "Book Fund".