Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury." Six words I'm hoping I don't have to hear anytime soon, in a context beyond a television advertisement, or some other form of audiovisual media. A housemate communicates what seem to be a few noises of concern or distress, a likely indicator that she needs to use the bathroom. Sure enough, the sound of a steady flow of liquid soon greets my eardrums. Her brother is gritting his teeth, having already returned to his computer. It turns out my presumption was correct: I see her, decked in a beautiful lime green shirt, making a few more distressed sounds as she retreats down the hall to the left (from my vantage point), in all probability seeking a place for herself on one of the local couches, where she will immerse herself in whatever is being shown on the communal television set for the next hour-plus, before we are all called upon to "load up!" and get in the van that will take us to the day program. The CNA who stayed here overnight and prepared breakfast for us can be heard saying something in Jamaican Patois. It sounds like she is concerned about something, but I wouldn't know where to begin with figuring out what it is. It's not like I can go up to her and ask because not only is it none of my concern, it could be something very sensitive. I wish she could be here all the time, but I'm grateful to be able to see her on mornings throughout the week. Though she can be firm, she is always fair and gracious, probably as a result of her faith in God and her upbringing in her native Jamaica. On the other hand, I'm not as fond of "M.C.," who I still have to put up with throughout the week. She's not difficult to deal with, but the big reason she is no fun to be around is because she treats the job like a job. She doesn't see any of us as family. She makes little effort to get to know us. She mostly stays in her office, barks orders at the by-and-large vulnerable residents, and seems to have little capacity for compassion. I've been able to tell, from the moment I met her, that she has been on the job for a while and is losing her interest. Alas, due to the nature of the home health care industry, and the fact that turnover rates tend to be quite high in some areas, she and others like her will be in this and similar lines of work for quite a while. I am not sure if it is possible for her to have a change of heart. I want to believe, deep in my heart, that it can happen. But it is painful to be surrounded by people who are mostly only here to pick up a paycheck. Another lady who comes during the week, "M.B." (as I'll call her), is a lot more friendly. She's easy to work with and fun to be around. But with M.C., there is always an underlying tension. This past weekend, I was given what in hindsight shouldn't have been a surprising clarification of her perspective, but still proved stunning, when I heard her on the phone most likely talking to a JARC staff member. Bear in mind this was with all of us in the van, with her well within earshot. I can't remember exactly what she said, but it was to the effect of "I do not want to take them to events at JARC, but if it's something that I have to do, I will do it." She is so focused on herself, and her views of the world, that she rarely seems to look at us as a family. To her, we're not family. She made that very clear when she reached out to our house manager--Mrs. T, as I'll call her--with a list of 'grievances,' notes of observation regarding problems she's had with clients. It shocked me to my core when I was basically told that M.C. felt intimidated by how I carry myself. Apparently, it bothers her to see someone laughing, cracking jokes, having a good time. It's against the flow of how things are supposed to be, the tenor of living in what is for some the final destination before incarceration or solitary confinement. "So be it," I say to myself. "Let her feel her feelings." If I have indeed intimidated her, it is no reflection of who I am, but it reflects fully on who she is as an individual. The main thing I try to do now is to make everything as simple as possible, and try to deal with her as little as I can. There are times where I have to tell her things, such as (for example) when someone wants to come over to drop something off, or pick me up for an outing; in both cases I need to be signed in and out, which is perfectly fine. It is easier now. "Cahmun?" I hear her say, in an unenthusiastic voice, her thick Haitian accent evident. There is no soulfulness in her vocal tone. If she ever enjoyed this job, she is certainly not enjoying it now. That shouldn't matter to me. It is a dreadful sound, a sound that is never articulated with any sort of love. But when I hear it, I know that it's my cue to get the garbage from the kitchen, and combine it with whatever is in the main office and near the front door. There is no need to go to her first. Just go straight to the kitchen, get that bag, put a fresh bag in, amalgamate the trash, and throw it in the dumpster with a dunk that would make Michael Jordan proud. It is painful to be in the 'care' (and I use that term very loosely) of someone who does not seem to be able to put the shoe on the other foot, and realize that fate could have dealt them the same hand it dealt me. I never asked to be born. I never asked for a condom to break. And I certainly didn't ask to be here. No one here did. No matter who you are, let me tell you something: you are special. You are valuable. Even if nobody else cares enough to remind you, let me take a moment to say that you are worthy of all the love an individual can give and more. You are worthy of the sun, the moon, the stars, every radiant galaxy. You deserve more than this world can ever give to you. Whatever you are going through, carry yourself with as much dignity as possible, and never forget that this too shall pass. Once again, I return to 2 Corinthians 4:17-18: "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal." With few exceptions, it doesn't seem like the people who are here care for us. Before I go on, I want to apologize to the gentleman who is in charge of "Environmental" here at JARC as I had a chance to get to know him a little better. He patiently listened to me and heard my story. My evaluations of his character were based on presumption rather than fact, and I humbly apologize. I have decided it is better to let my writing speak for myself, as a work in progress that has grown as I have. I will make a note of this in the foreword. Until very recently, I wondered about the concept of affirmations. I had never been in a situation in life that would lead me to have to remind myself that I am valuable, and worthy of love. By and large, neither I nor my housemates are told that we're valuable. We are never given a gentle "good morning" or "good night." We are viewed as problems to be dealt with, and obligations to be met, rather than people to be loved. No one says "I love you," no one says "I appreciate you." But it is not up to them to love me. If the love we have for ourselves, for others, is strong enough, it can compensate. I've made my share of mistakes, but I wasn't a mistake. We were all meant to be on Earth. And as my friend Tamar once told me, "good always wins." Someday, all of this...all of us...will be gone. Until then, I hope we can get along with each other.