12 July 2008 Sometimes I don’t want to see people. I hide in my house to avoid them. Like right now. I need to go to the laundry room and move clothes from the washer to the dryer. But a new neighbor is moving in across the hall. And her door is open. And she’s right there. If I leave my apartment to make the trek to the laundry room, I will or I may, see her. And right now, I don’t want to see people. I don’t want to say hi. I don’t want to have to be friendly and nice. I just want to be alone. In retreat. In my own little world. This thought of having to make pleasantries with my neighbor has me trapped in my apartment. I stand at the front door, staring out the peephole, waiting for her to close her door. If she would just close her door, then I could leave. I could move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. But the door is open. And I remain trapped, looking out a peephole the size of my pinky. Later Okay, so now I’m just out of control. The neighbor final