Is it wrong of me to take perverse pleasure from the fact that my manager has sprained his ankle? To put things in perspective, he didn’t give me one ounce of sympathy when I sprained my ankle last summer. When I called in to explain my plight, he didn’t ask me if I was okay. He basically just implied that I should get back to work as soon as possible. Even as I limped around the office and sat with my foot propped up on my recycling bin, he didn’t say a word. [Of course, no one in the entire office said anything, but I’ll save that for another therapy session.] Hell, when a younger prettier co-worker had an eye infection, he went on and on about it for days, hoping that she would be okay and expecting her to take as much time as she needed to recover. Bastard.
Maybe a better person (who doesn’t hold grudges that last for years at a time) would feel sorry for the guy. I mean, it’s not like I want him to be in pain. Much. However, there’s some sick part of me that’s jumping up and down in gleeful and malevolent delight. I suppose I should feel guilty or something. I don't.
You know, now that I’ve thought about it, I don’t think this is malice or human nature. It’s pure and unadulterated EVIL. And PMS. Definitely PMS. Did I mention the PMS? I’ve been wanting to hurt various co-workers all week, especially the guy who sits near my cubicle and goes through cycles where he has to clear his throat every two minutes. I’ve been able to block him out part of the time with my CD walkman, but there have been other times (darker times) when I’ve pictured him dying in horrific ways…DIE! DIE! DIE! *laughs insanely*
Oooookay. Perhaps I’ve revealed too much. Uh…I’ll just be going now to, uh…have myself committed. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. I’ll see you in…oh…maybe a few years.