When household objects scuttle on their many jointed legs

I admit I am a slob. I have known this for about as long as I have had conscious thought really. It is the bane of my father's existence. I don't mind being messy, I swear there is method to my madness. Other people just smile and nod then back out of my room slowly. Is there really a benefit to order? Well I suppose I would be able to find my "pretty clothes" easier and in a much more wearable state if I actually folded them, But where would be the fun in that?

Modern society puts so much stress on regimenting and classifying things. If we don't get some relief from that we would probably go mad. I know there are people that thrive on it, however for the rest of us, without a little chaotic goodness, we would become stagnant. Therefore my release is being able to toss things around in my personal space. Its not a justification, I admit being messy probably isn't a preferable state of being, but I know if I had someone else to pick up after me I would not be happy, in fact I would probably be really angry. So I accept my slovenliness and make a concerted effort to stay tidy, but really I don't care.