If I wasn’t already doomed to forever remain miss uptight & neurotic at the place I rented office space, I certainly am now. Keeping a blog is risky business: as said before, what I jot down here are partial, dramatized truths. And believe me, I’m already censoring myself because if I were to go all out and describe the true dramas in my life, I’d be ousted and frowned on by quite a few people (that having been said, uncensored truths often do make for big audiences, stupid me). Daily, I meander the neutral-yet-interesting-enough middle ground. But still things can get uncomfortable. This morning my tenant mentioned he read my blog. I desperately asked whether he’d also noticed how – after the smoke debacle – I had posted a note on how decent he is and how happy I now am. It seems he hadn’t and he’d only read my initial internal struggle about the smoking-thing, which he immediately solved. So this posting today is for him: I LOVE MY WORK SPACE AND HIM.