There are so many things wrong with me, but here’s two of them

I think I’ve mentioned this before but, let’s be honest, I babble a lot so maybe it’s a blog I wrote in my head and never actually communicated to you. I’ll start with a confession. I am morbidly fascinated by icky stuff. My mother often wondered what could be wrong with me while I was growing up. I read every true crime book I could get my hands on – the grislier the better. I’m drawn to serial killers like nobody’s business. I seriously considered going to school to be a Medicolegal death investigator. They’re the people who determine the cause and manner of unexplained and unnatural deaths. Doesn’t that sound fascinating, albeit a bit macabre? I even took some of the classes.  I’m guessing laziness was the reason I didn’t finish. Going to med school was too much work.

I write romance now, but my imagination could easily go the way of horror.

Not what you expected? Bwa-ha-ha-ha. The goofy blogger has a dark side.

The reason I told you all this is because I found a new outlet for my ghastly curiosity. Hoarders on the A&E network. These people are jaw-hanging-open, mind-bogglingly disturbed and I can’t turn it off.

The episode on last night was about a couple who collected somewhere in the neighborhood of 500,000 books.  Really. You’ve never seen so many books in your whole life. You can’t imagine what that looked like inside the house. There were paths like eighteen inches wide throughout the entire two-story house. It was a death and fire trap. One toppled stack would bring certain death. Nine foot stacks of books stretched the whole length of the house, all 26 rooms. Clearing a space to walk in the living room and another in the kitchen to find the appliances, they removed 20,000 books. The show didn’t even have time to get to a third room.

The mind boggled.

The hoarders themselves struggled with all the psychological implications involved with the systematic destruction of their lives. It was heartbreaking and horrifying all at once.

And I couldn’t help wishing I’d been there. I wonder how many books I’d have smuggled out of there in my own car.