The company I was working for at this time last year, the bastards who reminded me so much of Leon, who had me writing documents twelve hours a day for six months, documents which they deemed so critical that they never got around to reading them or acknowledging my work, went bankrupt recently.
I fail to be as enthused as I expected. I'm poking myself in that familiar bruise and I'm only half-surprised to not find any pain there.
Instead I'm worried about Anna Maria who hasn't responded to anyone's emails, I'm worried about Martine who said she wouldn't take another job after that one and who is going to go utterly nuts sitting at home with her listless, retired husband every day.
I'm not as worried about the CEO who started the company with daddy's money, he's a clever boy and despite daddy being far too hard on him, maybe he'll learn a lesson in management and make it without daddy's pressure next time.
I know he'll try again. I know that particular pattern of shadowplay between the muscles of his face.
I'm not worried at all about the CTO who spent more time commenting on how I don't wear short enough skirts. At all. I'm sorry, but my heart still has numb spots. Despite knowing that he's an asshole because he's been hurt too, despite all the understanding I can muster.
I'm not worried about Fred or Erik-the-Red, they left right around when I could.
I'm poking myself in my own holes and I guess I'm slowly becoming comfortable with the way I'm reacting.
My body is beginning to respond the way my mind wills it to.
Good.
So far, at least.