The kitchen is too gaddamned messy (no counter space, no kitchen table space, no room for anything and no one bothering to put anything away, clean out the fridge, throw anything out or actually find a spot for something that isn't the most convenient dropping space) for me to bake, cook, even mostly move around in.
You can just barely get through the "dining room" (that's just one big fucking pile of stuff) and into the kitchen.
And my mom bought more decorative crap today.
I don't know where the fuck she thinks it's going to go. I dunno where she and my father have gotten the idea that there is any room anywhere in this for ANY more of their stuff.
The 15 years worth of magazines... the random pieces of string... the box after box of dried floral pieces... the BUCKETS OF WASHERS.
I'm so aggravated. I'm the crankiest crank that ever cranked. I'm bored and lonely and annoyed and I just want someone else to fucking clean ANYTHING in this house without me having to goad and beg and treat them like a fucking child.
I hate living in this sty.