Sometimes I will find myself making up stories of other people's lifes. In my head, silently. On other occasions, though I probably shouldn't, it will be a more serious approach on what there is to hear or to witness. Not that it is my business, but I cannot help it. And then there are the moments, when their business will cross mine and I feel kinda helpness. Not knowing what to do. There is this girl living in our building. Right above our bedroom. She is a very nice and friendly person, rather shy, always with a sweet smile on her face. Whenever you'll meet her. Over the last four months though, she has developed a few habits, that are starting to really get to me. Besides taking a shower at least three times a day, especially before the first bird is even opening one eye and last times, somewhere around two o'clock at night, she also seems to clean her tiny appartment two times a day. Every day. Vacuum cleaning and furniture arranging, over your head, isn't exactly helpful, when you're trying to get to sleep. In the beginning I became quite angry, I even screamed towards the ceiling. But with all her machines and water running, of course, she didn't hear me. Luckily, she didn't notice one word I've shouted to her furiously, when I have no idea, what I am supposed to actually tell her. To stop that bloody noice, when it is clear as daylight, that something is wrong here. What would a discussion lead to? That something might have happened to her or that she had developed a serious mania of cleanliness. Who am I to tell her that. Who am I, to cross such a line, when she probably knows much more for herself anyway. When cleaning and showering could be the only ways to handle things right now. Last night, when listening to her raving and pacing around, I suddenly felt at peace. I made a descision to wait a while and see how things are a few weeks ahead. Of course, in the end, when she will go on, I'll have to have some kind of conversation. But for the moment, something is holding me back.