One can only take a room full of dirty laundry and old fast-food wrappers for so long before it takes hold of one's psyche and begins to infiltrate one's dreams with scenes of raging sweatshirts, vengeful frie-holders, and irate ketchup packets. So it is in my life at the moment. I consider myself a very easy going person, short of gutting my cat, there isn't much you can do to piss me off. So when the R started spending less and less time in the room, and subsequently spent less and less time trying to keep it clean, I wasn't exactly spouting off obscenities. Something as trivial as her grubby sweatshirts strewn about the floor doesn't particularly set off any triggers of rage in my mind. And as I myself have been increasingly absent from the room myself (due to cavorting about with The Boy and Hair rehearsals), though not nearly as much as she, I haven't brought myself to do anything about the slightly unpleasant state of the room. She did drive me to a bit of distraction earlier when she left all of her posters unhanged, all of her bags unpacked and on the floor, and her pillows and blankets adorning our floor instead of her bed, all situations which I remedied by fixing myself. I've attempted to put this out of my mind. It really isn't a big deal. However, I may be starting to cave. Normally her pile of mess is contained to her portion of the room, but of late it has been slowly crawling into my territory, and is driving me to distraction. After constant urging from the Ls, I think the time has come for action. I'm not a neat freak by any means, but I do like things a bit organized, if only because we live in such a small space that any clutter creates chaos. I should assert myself, I really should. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be reverting back to my passive aggressive ways...........Oh, to have a backbone.