Of Bibliophilia and Bookworms

I have found that many people kindly but still quite condescendingly laugh at my bookishness. Which got me to thinking, is there an inherent problem with reading too many books? What is the purpose of reading? And what of Plato's argument against it in the second half of Phaedrus? Therefore, kind readers, I entreat you to help me diagnose myself.

Here are some of my symptoms:

1) I have a 10-page-long wish list on Amazon.com (Still growing!).

2) I read more often then I exercise.

3) I read about as much as I sleep.

4) I feel odd ('naked') if I do not have a book in my hand or at least in close proximity to myself.

5) My ideal room would have all four walls lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling and a large, wide spacious desk and a comfy chair and automan. Well-lit.

6) My room is the library of my house.

7) My main expenditure is on Amazon (curse you shipping costs!).

8) Saying the word "D-A-N-T-E" in my presence will induce an assortment of reactions (depending on the context in which it is said):
a) An odd squeal (yes, like a piglet).
b) I'll fall to my knees and start yelling.
c) I'll get that mad glint in my eye that says "You'd better take that back!"
For example: When the inestimable Mr. Gross informed me that the Rodin sculpture known as "The Thinker" was, in fact, Rodin's sculpture of Dante, I did indeed fall to my knees and pump my fists skyward and yelled at the top of my lungs-directly underneath the Biola belltower. ....yeah.

9) This painting warms my heart.

10) I find that I have to exercise much self control in order to not buy this. They don't even have a picture of the thing! 50 some dollars! AHHHHH!

So, dear friends, be honest, how bad do I have it?

=D