I live in a hoarder house. My room is pretty fucked, but it's actually the nicest room in the house.
>No kitchen counter because it's buried in junk, which is caked in 15 years worth of grime.
>No living room couch because it's been consumed by a pile of boxes.
>We literally have no basement... it's packed rock solid from floor to ceiling with boxes of useless shit.
>At least 10,000 cassette tapes from when my mom and sister had the VCR recording 24/7. (They now record to DVD 24/7).
>Five cars in the yard... two dead, two run, one sort of runs. The dead ones are now storage sheds packed with, you guessed it, boxes of useless shit.
>Bathroom isn't that bad, surprisingly. Mostly just stained, dusty, and all the wallpaper and paint is coming off.
My room is disorganized as fuck, but I've stealthily thrown away most of my useless crap. The worst part about my room is the walls. This used to be my mom's room, and she painted the walls hot pink. Because she doesn't understand housework, she only painted the parts of the wall that showed... anywhere there was a shelf or picture on the wall, she just painted around it. So the walls are all hot pink with random white areas.
This is where my failure at life comes into play... I've been living in this room 14 years, and have never gotten my shit together to repaint it. At one point my room was the grossest one in the house... I had years-old cat puke crust everywhere and a heap of rotten trash in the corner. Back in 2011, I finally had enough and gutted the place, and had it looking pretty good aside from the stupid ass splotchy pink walls. But then of course the room was sanitary and comfortable, so I lost my drive to keep working on it. And here we are in 2015, clean, but super disorganized and looking as stupid as ever.