I grew up in a draconian home with parents who enjoyed dangling resources above their children’s heads as a means of controlling them. I never really sunk my teeth into the hunger games they orchestrated. When I was growing up my grandmother spoiled me with Barbie cars and jewelry. I remember sitting on my living room floor at 8 years old, rolling a pair of gold earrings between my fingers, watching them soften from the heat from my hands.
Work seems to have turned into a weird cycle of hunger games where one of my coworkers, who I previously liked very much, seems intent on cutting me down as much as possible. In a way I feel bad for him. I imagine him waking up in the morning and thinking “I must screw up her day.” Going to work, staring at his computer, coming up with a plan of attack, shooting a small curveball my way, and successfully screwing up my morning. I was frustrated about it today and started crying at my desk, and then got over it. On my way from the train station I thought about his day. Does he go home and think about email, about workplace politics, and drown himself in heavy thoughts?
The squeaky wheel gets the grease. This feels like the nature of workplace politics, and by proxy, the nature of my home. My coworker reminds me of my brother. He is obsessed with drawing attention to himself, constantly sending emails to senior management regarding every issue. At first it seemed weird to me, but now I understand it more deeply. He’s cultivating his reputation, showcasing the fact that he works, reminding the ones in power that he exists and will take it in the ass to get what he wants.
That’s my impression of the situation, anyways. I floated the idea to my boss and he was too apathetic to indulge my theories. That doesn’t stop me though. I keep dragging my fingernails through layers of workplace politics, trying to better understand people, to see the webs they quietly weave in the background of my mind. It seems unnecessary and wildly speculative at times, but I prefer the comfort of speculation over the discomfort of being caught in their plots.
a soft death 