I have had a house guest for the past ten days.  This is not the best situation for me.  I am a solitary type and when there are others around, even my husband or child, for more than a bit I become slightly frantic.  Claustrophobia grips me and my temper is short, my speech terse and unloving.  In this small house anyone but a hobbit would find themselves shrinking into a corner at the press of bodies in the kitchen, the trail of shoes at the foot of the stairs, the untidy aspect of every single room.