Tuesday, August 15, 2023

Lambs blood June 12, 2013

  

Looking at those people who follow her on Twitter, you have to wonder if maybe she intends to make a grand return back to our office, sparking the dread I had last summer when I half believed she intended to eventually become my boss.

Not merely, who follows her, but who she follows as well – the owner, our boss, even our office website.

She would be crazy to come back, since the owner isn’t going to give her the kind of money she deserves.

The fact that she is following our boss, who herself is in the midst of a nasty divorce, makes me wonder if perhaps she senses an opportunity, and might move up from her one-time role as cub to a new role in the corner office, near enough the owner and our former temporary boss to possibly make the trip back worth it after all – especially if she can attain the kind of money our boss makes.

It is also difficult to figure out if she does better manipulating men than she does women and may well explain why our boss when she came back largely ignored some of our poet’s bolder statements at our weekly meeting.

The boss and owner (not to mention our former temporary boss) follow her on twitter, even though for the most part nothing she posts is every newsworthy, nor has anything to do with her job doing PR.

How much she tells the owner or our boss about me remains a mystery, though she must have said something to our owner for him to search through my work computers.

But what did she say to our former temporary boss is a different matter, especially after I threw him under the bus a year ago, a jealous attempt to put a wedge between the two of them.

Lately, he’s grown more distant, although I’m more concerned when he acts overly friendly, leading me to suspect he and she might have concocted a trap.

The former temporary boss tried to get me fired last year after I told our poet that we had been talking about her.  I can still hear his cold voice on the telephone saying if asked by the owners, he would not hold back from telling the truth.

What truth? About her?

I don’t think he suspected I would tell the whole story to both owners about my involvement as well as what the former temporary boss said and did during that stretch of time.

Why has he become colder again after all these months of relative peace?

Has our poet talked to him about me?

Does she want to come back, and if so, such a feat would require my removal. She wouldn’t work here if I’m still here.

She appears to be following my blog pretty closely, perhaps to keep an eye out for something she (and the former temporary boss) might use against me.

Her poetry and her history, however, suggest that she rarely confides in people without a purpose, and what she says fits her agenda – such as the stuff she gave the public safety director or the stuff she keeps about her former boss in New York.

But when it comes down to trusting others, she seems to have a very small circle of people she trusts, and I suspect my boss, the former temporary boss, the owner and such are not in that inner circle.

This should be a relief. But from several calls I got at home from someone in the town where she works, I think she confides in someone about me, other than the public safety director.

I do not know if I still hold the lofty position in her life as a stalker, someone she claims to fear, someone she can use to get someone else to protect her.

All this is likely paranoia, but it does cross my mind from time to time that she might still be as enraged now as she was last summer.

Her poetry sends mixed messages, such as the poem about Compassion and another about quick sand. She seems to sometimes regret things she does, even against her alleged stalkers.

Maybe she reads GA’s hometown blog and blames me for the bits that appear there about her, when I actually suspect the true author is our boss.

But for some reason, I feel as threatened now as I did last summer and need to stay low and not talk about her to anyone, especially those inside our office, all this with the hope that like the angel of death, this too shall pass.

If only I knew where I could lay my hands on some lamb’s blood.

 

 


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