Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
In spite of my antidepressant, sometimes I see myself on the edge of the cliff.
It's hard to pay bills without a job, but I dread looking for something else. I feel old, slow, and unloved.
I told only a couple of people what the manager at my former job said to me. I think I'm ready to reveal it now.
He threatened me with dismissal from the beginning, and was never satisfied with my work. His early threat was They're going to come and take you out of here.
He didn't know about X's threat: I'm going to see to it that you're locked up in a mental institution for the rest of your life.
The manager's ignorance provided no excuse for saying such a thing to me.
Over time, his statements escalated to him belittling me for living where I live (a lovely neighborhood in which the value of my little house has increased dramatically), but he lives at the beaches. A lot of people there are entitled assholes.
He also brought up my age repeatedly. The statement that led me to report him: You're too old to get on your knees and give me a blow job.
Remind you of trump much?
The company investigated my complaint and decided that no one else had heard him say it, and he denied saying it; therefore, he didn't say it.
His words had more value than mine. As a writer, it's excruciating to me to have my words ignored and dismissed.
I was switched to a different manager. Her office was directly across from the other manager's office. I had to look at him when all I wanted was to never see his ugly face again.
The situation with the new manager wasn't much better. She wanted to get rid of me. With time she wore me down and I left.
The icing on the poop cake came when we moved one row over and she assigned a new desk to everyone except me. It's difficult to work without a desk.
The last of my fight was gone.
Now here I am, feeling a bit sorry for myself. I can't give as many gifts this year and I love to be a gift giver. I mailed Christmas cards today, though. I didn't know if I would accomplish that. Next I want to bake some cookies. Maybe I'll manage that.
Tomorrow will probably be better. It couldn't get much worse.
Infinities of love,