Sleeping Next to all the Books

 

It was only a matter of time before the books overflowed and I ended up sleeping next to them. 

One day they may end up in my bed somehow, stealing most of the duvet. Books kind of have a way of inviting themselves onto every surface available. Usually I am tidying a little stack of unruly books that somehow made their way off a shelf. Who knows how it happens? I am always welcoming them into my home so I suppose that is inevitable. I do not ever begrudge my decision to welcome them, though.

This time they have all floated off their shelves and into my bedroom, building stacks of tall towering skyscrapers. They arranged themselves into an Inklings sandwich unbeknownst to me - stacks of Tolkien, next to Lewis, next to more books about the Inklings. The tall, lumbering stack of Chesterton is nearest to my head of the bed, so hopefully some of his wit and wisdom of the world is soaking into me every night as I sleep. The poetry stack leans a little precariously, as many poetry books tend to be small and as it grows tall, a wobble ensues. There is a little bit of a metaphor there somewhere.

It is rather fun to see a huge amount of my books in a different perspective. I do not want them to be long on my bedroom floor next to my bed, for if I needed to find a particular title, it would be a challenge. Not to mention a library needs shelves (a home) for the books. Part of the joy of having hundreds upon hundreds of books is being able to browse them like a library. Soon, patient books. I will get you a new home to perch from. Your old home has gone to live at Mum's house.