...

       Oh, yeah. They definitely believe me. Toilet flooded, water everywhere. I shouldn't have had that juice. My brother, the handy-man of the family, got it fixed up again, but my mother, the drinker in the family, tried helping by tossing rags at him instead of just bringing towels.
      I should not have to be nervous about going to the bathroom. Every time. I wish I were a Sim; I'd read a couple of books and figure out how to make it unbreakable.

      But finally, she wants to talk to the landlord about it. Why listen to me when I've been talking about it since October?

      Whatever. They believe me. It's a good thing. They're suffering, and it's a good thing because they know I'm not a liar. Well, my brother just called me one in jest, but he was kidding, so that's fine. It doesn't suck at all... Well, maybe a little. I try to be kind, it's easy to be honest, but fine, call me a rude liar. At least I'm not the blind, ignorant one. I would think he'd go a little easier on me, since I've been ghosting a friend who called him a liar, but I guess he just hates me that much.

      Yeah. "He was kidding," like that matters. Maybe there are no good people.