She’s a mystery to me Aug. 14, 2012

 

For some reason, she announced at the meeting today she has a new boyfriend.

She didn’t look at me, although she has managed to notch up the hostility level, starting with our nearly bumping into each other when I was headed into the third-floor men’s room, and she was coming out the women’s room across the narrow corridor.

She jokingly (but likely perfectly earnest) said she would call on her new boyfriend to rescue her if she has a problem.

This undoubtedly is the same RR my political contact Tom had warned me about earlier.

Then, just as abruptly, she jumped up and left the meeting to answer an urgent call on her cell phone.

This, of course, made me think of the poem she posted yesterday, about being born with “eyes wide and skeptic” but how she knew the game, never able to grow out of what many people assumed was a phase.  She claimed she lost count of things and had to count things unrelated to keep track of her life.

When I read the poem earlier this morning, I assumed it had nothing to do with me, giving me hope that things would get better between us at work, it not friendly, certainly not hostile.

Five days ago, things were better, but on the sixth they were not.

What happened on Sunday night to cause this? Since we’ve not had any kind of contact, I assumed it was not me.  I can’t be blamed for things I did not do.

The poem once again referred to her inability to sleep, a complaint she’s had for some time, usually waking up in the early morning hours from the hamster on the hamster wheel spinning around inside her head.

Why is she so suddenly hostile when she should be happy about her new relationship?

Did something happen between her and the owner or her and our former temporary boss?

If she is in love again, why didn’t the poem reflect that, instead of continuing disappointment of her inability to get what she wants, no reverse Cinderella, no magical lucky 13th hour? And why did she feel the need to announce her new relationship at work when such things ought to be kept private?

As Roy Orbison once sang, “She’s a mystery to me.”


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