What I Keep Rereading

The books on the shelf say what I bought. The ones on the desk say who I am.

I keep a small stack within arm's reach — things I don't finish so much as consult. None of them are impressive. Two are falling apart. One has a coffee ring on page 114 that I have decided is a bookmark.

The test

A book earns desk status when I catch myself quoting it in an argument I'm losing.

There are five. Four of them changed my mind about something specific. The fifth just makes me feel less alone at 11:04, which is its own kind of usefulness.