Disclaimer-ish

No, don't worry. The last post was not as ominous as I'm sure it seemed.

I'm just frustrated.

Very, VERY frustrated.

The barbarian hordes of Squeakdom have returned, in all their loud and un-perceptive glory, and I am absolutely without hope of a moment of peace, quiet, and/or privacy.

I don't dislike Squeaky, really I don't. I just need my freaking SPACE, and space is the one thing it feels like I can't have.

"Just TELL her when she's getting on your nerves," Tim advises. Okay, easier said than done, for one thing--remember who you're dealing with here? I'm Ms. Nonconfrontational--and more importantly: I've tried. Doesn't work.

Example. As I wrote this post:

She made a phone call to a friend on the house phone. (She did ask before using the phone. This is why I simply can't hate the kid; she's TRYING to be respectful and polite. She asks before she takes food, uses the phone, borrows anything, uses the washer. She clearly wants my good opinion, and she's clearly grateful for the accommodations.) She left a message, and a couple of minutes later the friend called back. She was pacing around the living-room as she talked, making it impossible for me to continue writing, and so I asked her if she could maybe go in Tim's room. Instead, she finished the conversation, handed me back the phone (with a "thank you"), and sat down on the couch to chat with me some more. It was only ten minutes later, when Tim came back downstairs from taking his shower, that she followed him back into the bedroom and they closed the door.

Squeaky doesn't like to be alone. She's said as much several times; for one, with the life she's led, I'm sure she's never learned the art of being good company for herself, and I'm sure she's got plenty of demons in her head that come out when she's left with no one but herself. I can understand that. And I know she's not TRYING to crowd me or piss me off--she's said she thinks of Tim and I as "family" and she's thankful that we're looking out for her best interests. She's not TRYING to step on my toes, but when it comes to the issue of personal space, I'm so fanatical that she simply hasn't got a chance of NOT stepping on them. I recognize this, and it's not her fault--but it doesn't make it any easier when I come home after a long day at work and want nothing more than dinner, a beer, and a chance to un-knot myself. I know it's up to me to be flexible, and to be direct yet gentle when I just can't stand it anymore--but part of this frustration is that at the moments I need my space the MOST, I have the LEAST ability to keep those things in mind. It's a thorny situation, and I realize that some of it, if not most of it, is of my making.

But knowing what the problem is, and owning it, doesn't SOLVE it. And I'm not sure what will do that.

She's looking for housing. And in the manner of bureaucracies everywhere, things are moving at roughly the pace of cold molasses, and no one's returning phone calls. I know she's frustrated too. I feel bad for her, and I'm glad I can help...

...but it does make me tired.