Here's what a mess I am.
I look over at the shelves to my right and I see the following things:
A. A Swarovsky glass toucan
B. A vegetarian cookbook
C. A biography of Mussolini
D. Ernest Hemingway's bullfighting thing called "The Dangerous Summer"
E. A book written by William Penn in the 1600's called "No Cross, No Crown"
F. A cigar box filled with the entire 1911 card set from Strat-O-Matic baseball, separated by teams
G. A book of poems by Dylan Thomas
H. A copy of Bob Dylan's book "Tarantula"
I. A stray sock
J. A woven basket containing the headset for my MacSpeech Dictate and iPod buds
K. All my copies of The American Philatelist (stamps you cretins)
L. Three notebooks of stuff I've written I have no intention of using because I don't write like that any more (from last week)
M. A bag containing exactly 3 Nestle's Crunch bars, probably from last Halloween
N. A bootleg CD of stuff by Charlie Parker
O. A stack of statements I haven't opened from my E-Trade stock account
P. The full set of Ken Burns' "Baseball"...
Q. ...which is resting directly on top of a book called "Anarchist Portraits" explaining the lives and works of over a dozen anarchists in history including Sacco and Vanzetti
R. My Top Chef Cookbook
S. An empty (I think) box of Henry Clay cigars
T. An energy saver light bulb I can't fit into any light fixture
U. The autobiography of chief Black Hawk
V. A little dark green tattered copy of Camus' The Plague
W. Script books to ten of Shakespeare's plays
X. The three volume set of H.L. Mencken's The American Language
Y. 4 empty bottles of absinthe which I'm keeping because they all have eyes on them
Z. The hard resin and photo-etch scale model I built of the SS Maine (as in "Remember the...")
If this is not a statement of how I have managed to butter myself across the entire breadth of the physical universe and find a way to have no point at all in my short time here on Earth I do not know what else is.
Now do you understand?