Living Under the Tower

I should tell you, faithful reader (and you know who you are) that it was just today that I realised the danger I have been living with. The bedside table has always been a spot to toss the loose paper money and coppers but now there doesn't seem room for even that (not that I've got much cash to put there). The usual clutter: table lamp, telephone, box of tissues, old clock radio, new clock radio from Christmas that I still don't know how to set is now displaced by two stacks of books. Yes reader, I know that you're curious, so I will subject you to the dreaded list.

• Random Passage by Bernice Morgan (local)
• When Bells Toll in the North by Freeman Cull (local)
• The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
• This is Not a Book--Adventures in Popular Philosophy
• Race to Mars (coffee table book)
• Cannery Row by John Steinbeck
• How to See Yourself as you Really Are by the Dalai Lama
• Present at the future (controversial conversations on science and nature)
• The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank by Erma Bombeck
• Blindness by Jose Saramago
• Mothership by John Brosnan (sci-fi, not parenting...)
• Black Order by James Rollins
• Privileged Information by Stephen White
• The Hope Valley Hubcap King by Sean Murphy (quirky with Zen flavour)
• The Barnum Museum by Steve Millhauser (short story collection)
• Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs (short stories)

And of course on top of the stack are my reading glasses in their case and a note pad in case I get blessed with a story idea (or a weird dream) in the middle of the night. In all the pile is now tall and tilting and at risk of crushing my head as I lay sleeping in bed. I should check my insurance policy as it may be of a quantity that my wife may accidentally bump the night stand with her hip as I sleep...sweet dreams all.