I’ve written this list of people at work who I’m sure don’t like me, and it has six people on it at the moment. The scripts in my head concerning these people are, as I probably said before, alarming. “She’ll never like me because she’s the prettiest girl in the company, a queen bee who knows she’s better than everyone, especially me.” It’s all pretty much like that; it could continue to be like that forever, if I don’t change my thoughts. Just now I was inspired to write a list of the people in the company who I know like me – people I might actually consider friends. This list came to thirteen people. So, for every potential enemy there are at least two friends. This is illuminating information. Why didn’t I think to write this list before?

Just having a list on paper changes things. It doesn’t make the situation perfect, but it moves me away from the fear slightly. It’s been a good week at work anyway; I’m sure it will be even better from now. What I’ve done would probably make any therapist proud. Finally after all those years of self help, twelve step work and therapy, I’ve learnt to challenge my negative inner dialogues. It makes one feel quite good.

At home things are improving, too. Since I de-cluttered my room last weekend I’ve felt significantly more comfortable sitting here. I’ve managed to do some writing for a potential new novel. At long last I have begun to print the autobiography which I finished redrafting in January (I’m confident that it is as ‘publishable’ as it will ever be). I’ve created some more artwork for my wall. My drawings are becoming more ambitious. The latest one will be a pencil sketch of the New York skyline. It will be the most detailed and elaborate picture I’ve ever drawn. Doing it will be good for my soul; I can’t help feeling that having a de-cluttered room has produced a surge in my creative juices this week.

The situation with the housemates has become fairly neutral. Whenever I see Robert on the stairs or in the kitchen I’m very polite, and he is polite back. I sense less tension with him now, though I still have to force myself to go down to the kitchen every evening and cook dinner. The fear of bumping into him hasn’t dwindled as quickly as I would have liked. I guess that might be because I still secretly harbour some resentment towards him. His noise levels continue to irk me. We live in an old, unsteady house which shakes every time he comes banging and stomping up the stairs like a child with too much energy. That and the chattering and laughing in the hallway every evening outside my door; the singing in the bathroom at the top of his lungs which lets you know that he has failed auditions for shows in the West End.

The noise isn’t the only thing, there’s the constant mess in the kitchen too. Plates always in the sink, clothes always left in the washing machine. Last Friday he put some clothes in to wash, and they were still there last night, creating a stink in the kitchen that had me retching. On its own any one of these things might be quite funny, but I’ve been putting up with it for far too long. I know I have, and I have to take responsibility for that. We only have another five months here, five months that I was hoping would go by quickly and painlessly without me having to confront Robert. My wish to avoid confrontation is not going to be granted: Ethan has called a house meeting for tomorrow night. He says he wants to discuss ‘house matters’, which I know means the state of the kitchen. Providing we can all make it tomorrow, I’m finally going to have to sit down with Robert and admit that I have problems with his personal habits. God, I don’t want to do it! But this opportunity has been given by my higher power, I don’t doubt it, so speak the truth I must.


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