I need a fucking table...

and several bookcases.

If there is a single aspect of my relocation that is lagging behind, it is my indecent lack of furniture. I'm typing this post on my laptop, which is stationed on a requisitioned end table that has one leg shorter than the other three. At the same time, my long breakfast bar is filled with stacks, stacks of bills, stacks of clippings, stacks of books, and - now that I glance over - stacks of plates that I thought I had washed, but apparently just moved out of the sink.

There is one thing that could solve the dueling problems of the wobbly end table and the over-flowing breakfast bar: a table. A table, a not uncommon piece of furniture, would solve both problems AND provide a place for me to eat. Right now, the end table is also doubling (or, I guess, tripling) as my dining room table -- the laptop just goes on the floor.

Behind me, to my left, to my right, and in front of me are many more stacks -- this time of books. In all, about 800. These books are stacked because, well, my crappy bookcases in Texas weren't worth dragging up to Ohio. If I had, I don't know, 4 or 5 bookcases, that would be AWESOME.

The problems I have, I tell you.