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earlier this weekend (in the wee hours, of course), i succumbed to whatever stupidity is deep in my bones and i emailed the old boss.

he replied early sunday morning, but there was no subsequent response to my email of pleasantries (and stifled rage and pain).

"tell me," cam sighed, "what is it about him that you can't let go?"

what is it about the ex-boss that pushes SO many buttons? the fact we shared the same insanely stupid work ethic? dude made three times what i make, so he better have a crazy work ethic.

"you have to stop acting like a jilted girlfriend."

i forgive too easily. i am also willing to forget too easily. but i count him--illogically--as one of my greatest failures. i did everything he told me to do. i said everything he wanted me to say. we spoke the same language--admittedly, i was far less glib. so why did he do me like that?

"if that's one of your greatest failures, you haven't had very many," says cam disapprovingly.

as a child, i read far too many crap novels, not really caring so much about what i read as the fact that i was reading. my mother took away the sexybooks when i was nine when she realized i probably shouldn't be reading them, but eventually shrugged and gave up. my hotel-maintenance-man dad was good friends with the hotel maids, and everybody learned to give left-behind books to THAT guy, because "his kid likes to read."

so i wanted to believe that this quote floating in my head had a more noble parentage, but i realize now that it was from lace, which briefly obsessed me because i was used to phoebe cates as ingénue, not as painted harlot.

"But with ____, I remember, you threw yourself at him, threw yourself in front of him like a doormat with 'welcome' printed on it. So, as we say in France, he wiped his feet on you."

snap out of it, girlie. this behavior does you no justice.



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