Why am I such a doormat when it comes to roommate-related things? I'm too inherently trusting when it comes to this; it's as if I can't believe anyone I'm going to live with would have me agree to something ultimately detrimental to my sanity (depleted though it may be, the poor old girl). And given that this is the fourth time I've had new roomies, you'd really think that I'd have dragged Mr. Naive Optimism out by the shed for the Old Yeller treatment by now.
And it could be anything, too. Big stuff, little stuff. Fate of the world grade decisions like
"Oh, maybe the self-destruct switch should be a little more obvious so we know not to ac