I picked this meme up from Lauren on feministe. I’m supposed to tell you what’s on my bedside table. Unfortunately, like life, the surface spills onto the floor. And, in the interests of personal boundries, I'm leaving a few items off this public post. Now don't say I never kept secrets from you.

On the surface of the table: An ancient clock/radio (AM dial only) that came with the house, still bearing yard sale stickers saying "75 cents" and "Works." (that's an exaggeration; the clock works but I don't trust the alarm and no matter how loudly I tune in a radio station at night, it's inaudible in the daytime when the alarm goes off.) Several hair ties. A quart yogurt container holding pens, pencils, highlighters, scissors, other miscellany. A wristwatch with a broken band which I actually use for an alarm clock. Several coasters, one of which holds a mug of water at bedtime. Some lip balm. Moisterizer. A swivel arm desk lamp clamped to the edge. A folding knife. A flashlight.

Under the table, on the floor: A couple of toppling piles of magazines (misc. computer mags, Home Power, The Progressive, In These Times, Mother Jones, Z, The Fifth Estate, Uncut, Shivers, Fortean Times, Ms., off our backs, Anarchy). Eight or so books (Anarchism, Guerin; The Iron Dream, Spinrad; The Weapon Makers, van Vogt; Wicked Words, Rawson; Paracon, Albert, The Hellbound Heart, Barker)

Any surprises here? You tell me.