One should never speak of the devil...
...when you're afraid of seeing him again.
I was writing a blog about realizing the truth behind the statement "misery loves company" when I mention the hell I'd gone through working for the ex-boss and what I'd gone through when he became the ex-boss, when I think I hear his voice.
Chalking it up to immersion into my writing and an overactive imagination, I continue on. Not 10 seconds after that I find that it wasn't a bad flashback, but that he was really in the building. *gag*
Long hair, very salt and pepper, thinner (but only slightly)... physical changes were apparent. But he was the same ole, same ole guy. Still boasting, still one-upping, still easily dazzled by simple things.
He was rather impressed with the fact that I had a really nice view outside, and have my large spacious office space. Somehow, however, I think that and his compliment of me looking slimmer were laced with something else that I couldn't put my finger on. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I don't think it was sincere - which would be perfectly in line with how he just is.
I'm physically exhausted from spending the 7 or 8 minutes with him that I did, keeping the pretense that I was happy to see him. Three other people in the office think that I deserve an Oscar for the performance they overheard while he was there. It wasn't overdone - it sounded just like that usual happy me. But they all know that I've been at the end of my rope dealing with him, and how relieved I was that he wasn't going to be at the company any more.
Now, months later, after he'd stepped into my boss' office and started boasting to him about his new life in Montana I was barely holding it together in my office before he walked away and I could dash off somewhere to burn off the steam. I didn't drop myself immediately back into my data (a good thing) because that would have been the same ole, same ole pattern I had.
If he rubbed me the wrong way, or I couldn't handle him I would drop into my data, hot and heavy, and work the frustration out on the numbers. My poor virtual memory and CPU - it's no wonder I burned my last box out in just under a year. This time I took pity on my fast hot box and walked away.
By the time you read this it will have been a week old memory, and I will have worked out the frustration at the gym. I will have warned DH about it, and he will have peeled me off the ceiling, and life will have returned to normal...
...as long as I don't have any PTSD symptoms from it all.