I don’t usually post about my non-clay life here, but I just wanted to share with the internets that, while packing up for a move to a new apartment, I managed to crush my coffee table under the weight of my books.
Right. Piles are going in the middle of rooms from now on.
 “Interesting Times” was the one that broke the table’s leg. I still have the rest of the Pratchett shelf to pack, then comics, language & linguistics, medieval stuff, and miscellaneous “serious” books. Then… um, the things I own that aren’t books.
 You know. Pride and Prejudice, and Freakonomics, and Leonard Nimoy’s autobiography. That sort of stuff.
 As perversely happy as I am to have acquired this shiny new nerd bragging point, I am *very* happy that the pottery that was sharing bookshelf space was in a different teetering pile *next* to the coffee table, and did not fall over.