Still here. Still sober. My living arrangement is far from optimal but I cope with it by hiding in my room. I had a very vitriolic description of my housemates but I’ll try to take a kinder, gentler approach (for karma’s sake). He, the husband, is nice but timid. All in all, not a bad guy. She, the wife, is, well, interesting. She’s what my mother would euphemistically describe as a “piece of work”. Yesterday, when I walked through the door after a hard day’s work her first words to me were, “Do you have my money?”, not “Hello. How was your day?”, not “Hi. You look exhausted.” not even, “Hi. Have you gone to the bank?” I should further explain that she has a grating voice that falls somewhere between a crow screeching and a cat coughing up a hairball. Enough said.

The beauty of living here is that it motivates me to improve my situation. I submitted several applications last night and hope to do the same tonight. It’s easier to get a job if you have a job, or so they say. I hope they are right. Maybe I should submit an application to they. They seem to have their dirty little hands in everything. And they talk a lot.

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