I was lying in bed this morning debating whether or not to go to work, or if I should just stay under the duvet all day wallowing in my misery. I picked up my phone, I had to talk to HP. Did he leave me because he wanted to be with Candy? But if that was the case, why was he acting angry with me? I was the one who should be angry. And I was angry. Livid. I wanted to scream, but instead the tears came.
More fucking tears. How much saline can my body produce?
So I got mad at HP and didn’t call him. I texted instead. I wanted to text, ‘I miss you. Let’s talk and make this work.’ But, ‘Fine. Be a coward. Don’t deal with anything. Just hide. Great.’ came out instead.
Then I started thinking, ‘Why does he get to leave. I want to just fuck off and not deal with it.’
So I texted Betsy. ‘If the offer is still on, I’m coming to work for you. When can I start.’
Betsy texted back straight away, ‘I don’t hire people who’ve fucked up their life. Not smart business. Come back when you’ve got your shit together.’
I wanted to throw my phone across the room, but I’ve got a year left in my iphone contract (god, I miss a good throwing Nokia), so I screamed. Just screamed. And screamed again.
Then my phone beeped and I thought…hoped…it was HP. It wasn’t. It was a text from Betsy. She apologized then said, ‘I want you working for me because you want to not because you’re miserable in Scotland. Get through Christmas and we’ll talk about it then.’
God. Christmas. Shit. I can’t even think about Christmas.
Betsy was right. It would be stupid to run off to Italy. And, still don’t know if I have to pay Giles back if I leave.
Speaking of Giles, I finally went into work because I couldn’t face calling in sick on a Monday Meeting day. Not in the mood for that bollocking. So I drudged into work with the intention of ducking back out after the meeting, but fucking Giles never turned up. He’s the one that wants these weekly meeting, but he never fucking turns up, so we just spend the day sitting around waiting for him. He’s an asstwat.
Then there was the Intern. I spent the first few hours trying to stay away from her. Way too embarrassed. Then eventually she came over to my desk and asked if she could leave, she couldn’t wait around for Giles and she had Uni work to do.
There was no inkling in her voice that she knew I talked smack about her on Halloween. I was thinking that maybe she had a really great poker face. Or, she was just hiding it then she was going to make me suffer. Like I didn’t feel bad enough. I’ve been treating her like shit.
Well, as I was just silent (and my eyes were nearly swollen shut from two days of crying) she asked, ‘Are you okay?’
Three of the worst words to put together. Three words when put together that can only be answered with a lie, ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
But I wasn’t fine. I’d lost my boyfriend to a cougar and I had spent the last two months belittling the only person in my office who wasn’t a complete sponkface. And, on top of all that, I got caught talking smack about her to her friend. I don’t know what’s worse, realizing that you’ve been acting like an arse, or being confronted on acting like an arse. I guess, on Friday, it was both for me.
So, when she asked ‘Are you okay?’ in my mind I said, ‘I’m fine’ with a straight face. But actually it came out ‘I’m ghtghhhblurggggggg.’ And tears.
The Intern rushed me into the bathroom, and that’s when I started apologising profusely. I told her that I was so sorry. That I totally thought she was a posh bitch who got the job because she was shagging Giles, and I couldn’t believe I ever thought that. And it’s all because I’m insecure, and I’m so sorry, and she’s a great intern, and I couldn’t believe she’d been traveling so much just to get into this stupid crappy office, and she wasn’t even learning anything properly, and I was just projecting…
She cut me off with, ‘Wait. You thought I was shagging Giles?’
Fuck. She didn’t know. Her friend didn’t tell her what I had said, which is a pretty good friend because if something like that had happened to me –say, Donna’s boss accidently talked trash about Donna to me – I’d be straight back to my friend dishing the dirt and telling Donna exactly what her boss had said. Geeze. I can’t believe Katie Perry didn’t say anything to the Intern.
Yet, at this point. I had put my foot in it, so I had to calm down and explain. I decided to tell her everything. That I was annoyed she was hired without anyone consulting me. That I felt like everyone around me was Giles’ mates. And that, well, the way he touched her hand and stuff…well, I’ve seen that look. That’s why I thought they were sleeping together. (I didn’t mention that I thought she was shit at her job, which I do, but then again, she’s gotten no training. So I’m going to have to rectify that.)
She said that she hates how Giles leers at her, and she almost didn’t take the internship, but he made such a stink about it that’s why she took it. And then, she, rightfully, got kind of mad at me, and she started to get upset. ‘I’ve been working my butt off, and I’ve put in so many hours to get here everyday, and you think I’m sleeping with that old man. Is this what it’s going to be like? Is this what it’s like in publishing, even the women think you’re a tramp if someone helps you out.’
Shit. I am such a shit. I’m such a shit I’ve fucked up this girl’s world view. Shit.
I told her that this was all ridiculous. That I was sorry. And that it was not how publishing worked. And I promised I’d spend more time with her training her. And I’d give her a proper internship. An internship like the one I WISH I’d had.
We calmed down, and I also told her that she didn’t need to come into the office everyday. It was too expensive and too far for her to travel. So we agreed that she’d come in all day for two days a week, days she didn’t have class. And she’d stay with her friend in Dundee, so she’d cut down even more on commuting.
Then she asked, ‘I’m sorry if this is personal. But, you were upset earlier. Really upset. It wasn’t because of me?’
I don’t know why, but I wasn’t ready to spill the beans on HP. So, I confessed about the smack talk. I figured if I was trying to fix things, I may as well go all the way. I said, ‘Yeah. I was talking to your friend at the Halloween party, and she told me all about your situation.’
She was confused, then said, ‘You were at the Halloween party?’
Nope. She didn’t see me, and her friend didn’t say a word. Wow. I could have so gotten away with talking about her. But, I guess, in the end, I’m glad I didn’t get away with it.
So, I told her that I was dressed as a witch (for a Halloween party, there was a remarkably low number of witch costumes). Then she says, ‘You weren’t the one that ran out of the house cursing about a cougar and you stole that bottle of whiskey on your way out the door. You know that whiskey was some sort of 100 year old bottle the host’s father gave him for his 21st birthday.’
Whoops. Yeah, that was me. Shit, I complete forgot about steeling that whiskey. In fact, I thought I picked up a bottle of wine. What did I do with that? Did I drink it. Shit. I think I remember. I think I drank some of it, and then tried to use the rest as a sex payment to Goatee. He didn’t take it. And we didn’t have sex. But, god, I was not on good form on Halloween.
I’d had enough truth for the day, so I said, ‘Nope. Not me. Must have been the other witch.’
Right. A bit of a break in my blogging. My phone rang. Still not HP. It was Sarah. And, she wasn’t calling to bitch me out for once. She just rang to tell me she was sorry for her last phone call. That the hormones are making her ‘crazy’ and that she kind of gets a bit panicky these days without Pete around.
We talked. Like really talked. Or, I talked. I told her about HP. About Halloween. And about everything before that. She listened, and then said that she was really happy she called. I apologised for talking about myself the whole time, and she said it felt good to listen to someone else’s problems for a change. Maybe Sarah and I only work as friends when we need each other. Right now I’m okay with that.
We were probably on the phone for about two hours. We’re going to see each other on Saturday – provided… I don’t know what? But, maybe I’ll talk to HP on Saturday. I just wish I could text him without being so angry. Anyway, Sarah’s going to bring the kids over to Dundee on Saturday. And, maybe there should be no ‘provided’. If HP wants to move out and not answer my texts and not talk to me about his horrible decisions, then fuck him. I’m spending Saturday with my friend and her kids.