I was rotting at work, so I called one of my colleagues out for a coffee. It’s besides the fact that we landed up having a glass of wine each.
And he told me, he had to explain to other people, where I had vanished for three weeks. Since I am on talking terms with him, they asked him instead of asking PD. He re-asked them, “What if she had gone on work for three months?”. “But that’s different”, they replied in unison. As if going on work prevents automatically prevents you from having sex with strangers.
“They are nice people”, he tried to sum up. “I really don’t care”, I drew my own conclusions.
Wish he hadn’t told me. I feel more like a martyr. I feel the pride of a non-conformist. And the last thing I need is a complex and more importantly, a fake sense of greatness. I am fine, I did nothing new. Big fuckin’ deal. I would mess with their minds even more, given the chance. Big deal, really. (Though I feel great!)
Let’s keep it at that.
