Hoarder-iffic

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate my current apartment?  Well, I do.  Picture “the old lady who lived in a shoe”, except I have a lot of stuff instead of children, and am living in considerably more confined conditions.  I’m not kidding.  This apartment is so incredibly cramped that I have absolutely nowhere to put anything.  It just piles up everywhere.  As each day goes by, I’m beginning to feel more and more like one of those sad, sad people featured on one of those many horrifically addictive “hoarders” shows.  I cringe whenever I see their living conditions, but their insane clutter is beginning to strike a cord.  I'm seriously afraid I’m headed in the same tragic direction.  (OK – maybe it's not quite so bad, but this place is seriously stuffed to the gills.)  And the sad thing is that we really don’t have that much stuff; we’re just stuck in an incredibly small one-bedroom apartment.  It was fun and kitschy to live in a cramped one-bedroom when we were living in Australia (plus we only had a couple of suitcases worth of belongings), but now it’s just frustrating.  I swear I nearly have an anxiety attack every time I walk in the door.  My heart races and my stomach tightens as I kick aside shoes, bags, and whatever else is in my way, as I make myself to the other side of the room. (I guess you could call it our living room, but that conjurs up an image of space that just doesn't exist.)  Yes – picking up might be an option.  The only problem is, I have nowhere to put my things once I’ve picked them up.  I’ve just plain run out of space.  So, I’m left to stuffing things in corners and turning a blind eye to the chaos that abounds.  I keep reminding myself that it’s only for another month.  After that, our lease will be up, and we’ll be free to move into a nicer, more spacious place.  Now we just have to find said place…