My name is Spiller and I am a self-help-bookaholic.

Over the past few months I have read books on how to sleep more, worry less, love more, fear less, get organized, stress less, make yoga part of my life, drink less, use my creativity to the fullest, improve my appearance, and (I blush to admit this, O gentle blogreaders) a few dreadful 'how to get a man, keep a man, make a man follow you around like a lost puppy dog when he's not buying you expensive jewelry' books.Those things should come in brown paper wrappers.

Somehow, despite knowing better, I have a deep abiding belief that if I can lug home a big enough stack and read through them without skipping the boring parts I will be a better person.

I am sick and tired of trying to help myself. I am going to go find some other people who need to sleep more/worry less/floss more/curse less/find their soulmate/find matching socks/etcetera and help them instead.

Maybe they'll even return my library books for me.