Couples' Solitude

The pushy, the crap-stirrer and the traitor meet in the same editorial office

Why is it like a law that each and every office has at least one person no one can stand? Sometimes I almost think they specifically teach it to HR folks to always hire an intriguer into the teams who would keep everyone else in a check-mate. In the first days I thought the producer B. hired M. as the editor-in-chief because he wants to screw her. Later I realized it's not her in his scipe, but Sylvie. I paid a great price for my ignorance. Sylvie is 25, and as bright a mind as a starless night. When she was born, God must have given her body as a consolation prize for her lack of mental abilities: huge breasts, long legs, big, surprised baby-blue eyes, lips fuller and plumper than Angelina Jolie's. And a gaze stupid to infinity. Primitive thoughts, zero creativity, whining to no end. From the first moment I was neglecting the woman as I can't stand stupid girls. I'm not even tickled by her openly out beauties either. She wears such short skirts she can't even sit down without all her junk showing. With Mark, the other editor we've been making bets when will her boobs pop out of her shirts when she bends over for something. Like for other people's ideas. She comes in by 3pm and doesn't do anything, and still she leaves last. As it turned out, together with B. I wasn't especially concerned about her until the producer called me to his office. He wasn't making many extra laps:
- Sylvie has been complaining that you never listen to her ideas.
I almost answered because she has none, but luckily I remained silent.
- You don't let her in, you don't pass any information to her.
Nem bírtam magammal:
- Maybe if she didn't come in for the afternoon only, and showed at least a minimum interest towards the programmes in making.
- Don't be unjust! She can't yet come earlier, she spends her mornings at her old job. That's the only way I could tempt her over. In exchange she's still in when you're all long gone. But that's not important, in a few days it will all resolve. Sylvie is really talented, she has ingenious ideas.
- Pity she never shared a single one with us yet...
- Because you don't pay attention to her. Even yesterday she came to me crying that you treat her like air.
I was thinking of a snappy answer when B. suddenly leaned closer to me:
- Hey, did Mark really have a go on her?
- Nah, no way...
He didn't let me finish the sentence.
- But that's what I heard... and not from her... that he's pushing for her pretty nasty.
- Mark? That's ridiculous. He's just laughing at her... (and I almost added, me too)
- Well that's it, don't you think that he's trying to hide his primal instinct with this extreme reaction?
I protected Mark with teeth and nails. It turned out later that I shouldn't have.
- I don't want conflicts inside the office - he summed up. - There's way enough problems with the shows without weakening yourself from the inside.
I tried to say something, but he didn't let me to.
- I want to ask you not to let the crew members pick on each other.
I didn't understand why he wants me to do it. Why not M.? After all, she's the editor-in-chief, she should be holding the team together. As if he was reading my mind, B. switched to a more intimate tone:
- You know what women are like, they're always jealous of one another. And M. is not an exception either. That's why I turn to you. I want you to be my lengthened arm in the office. Combing together what goes apart. You see, no? And please do me a favor and teach Sylvie a bit. The girl's a real treasure, just she doesn't have enough experience yet.
- Of course, no problem, but could we do it in regular hours? - I tried to turn the request to my favor. - My wife is getting upset that I keep going home so late.
- We will rearrange the tasks: you go on with the shows in the morning and you teach Sylvie in the afternoon. Will that work?
I agreed, at least I agreed to deal with the bitch. Of course I did not agree to be B.'s spy.
From M. I know that B. also talked to Mark. The producer told M. that according to Mark I got hooked on Sylvie. I keep making nasty comments on her clothing to cover it up.
M. reassured me that she has faith in me, but she also warned me she doesn't like it when the employees' emotional life goes across the border with work...

There are sone couples who bring out the worst of each other. If one is up, the other is down. Their energy can never add up, one will always put the other out. Of course this has a good side too. Negative forces can't add up either, making the final, demolishing explosion impossible.

A few days ago I was praying for Peter to find a job. Now for him to work less. He comes home at night, most of the time I can't even wait for him. I have to get up early to tend to the kids, he sleeps in until eight, goes to the gym, goes to work, and everything starts from scratch. If I even mention, how much he does it for anyways, he gets angry. "Why can't anything be good for you?" That's what he yells at me. He complains that he would come earlier, but everyone else stays so late, so he can't take off because then they will work against him all night. I can ask him to arrange his life so he could see his children at least every once in a while, he just shrugs and keeps saying that as soon as the new channel takes off it will be a lot easier. I just keep hearing M. this, M. that more and more. I think they got just a bit too close. Should I be jealous? Maybe. I don't know. I don't feel anything. Just couples' solitude.

The Hell of Jealousy

Business meeting in the jacuzzi. Survivor camp with the co-workers. How much of you do you give to the company?

I'm jealous of Sophie's success. Finally I dare to say it. I know it sounds bad, but I don't care anymore about the silenced half-truths and the soul-killing lies. Think what you want to, that's the truth. At least I say it. This is the first step. The next one will be to tell her too. I have a hard time handling it, because whilst I have to face rejection from every direction, that no one wants my work, she gets wings. Or maybe she's being flewn? Or being run? Okay, just leave that one. The next step will involve clearing up all that too.

I needed days to finally give birth to all these thoughts. I retired into and live an ascetic life inside the guest bedroom, so there won't even be an accidental little fight, so she won't see that I can't be unconditionally happy about her successes. I just have to get over this crippling feeling so our life can get back on track.
Obviously, being jealous of her success can not be apart from being jealous of my woman. I know she jumped so high on the ladder because her boss wants something from her. I only don't know if he's good with just the body or if he wants her soul too? And I can't talk to Sophie about it, because as soon as I mention it, she snaps.

No, I don't think that Sophie abuses the situation, nor do I think there's anything between them. I trust Sophie, but not the guy. I'm going crazy from not being able to do anything if fate or if his maneuvers would move them into each other's arms, because we need that damned money Sophie makes, we would croak without that. Even though I would love to just go up to the guy and yell into his face that he can't buy Sophie, because I don't let her, I won't give her.
A line from a novel is in my head: "man doesn't give another man an opportunity; not even from laziness, carelessness or lack of attention." But in our case it's not laziness, but money, and it's wrong. I have a feeling that we sell our relationship because of this damned recession!
*
I wrote all the above in the afternoon. Now it's night. A night of hopelessness. She came home only at eight. I didn't say a word. We talked about neutral things, and about the weekend. And then she mentioned it: she's leaving on Saturday for two days, to some wellness resort where they will do a presentation for the strategic partners. I only asked:
- So they want you to show off around in bikinis? In front of your boss, your colleagues, all those perverts of partners? Let me guess, they are all men! Do you think it's normal? I hope you sent them to Hell?
She said it's embarrassing to her too, but she couldn't say no. If they want new partners in these hard times, they need to do something memorable.
Yup, serving up my naked wife! What a genius!

It wasn't in Peter's blog where I first heard of these "business weekends". I have to say, I don't think these "creative meetings" are so great. Meetings are for offices, maybe for dinner tables. Since it's questionable whether an employee can say no to the offer.
Employee. Many use this term as "be a slave!" We bought you by the pound. Because in today's Hungary, for many corporations that's what employees mean. They ask for unconditional accommodation. Teambuilding in the weekends, get-togethers, psycho-dramas, role-playing games, meetings in the jacuzzi. Doing your job is not enough! Give all of yourself! You can't have a weekend, a private life. Don't have doubts or questions! Throw in everything, seduce the possible partner if the sales graph is not rising well enough. Throw yourself in! Do everything for the company, and believe in it. Your office is the temple where you have to make the due sacrifice for the Greater Brand. If you ask questions, if you have doubts in the latest corporate bible, if you don't trust the visions of the head priests that by 2018 the concurring companies won't even see your backs and you will become the monopoly, you're misbehaving, you're disrupting the ritual. If they notice you don't give yourself so easily, if you stick to individual thoughts, if you don't believe unconditionally, they will fire you. You don't belong with us if you don't worship the Greater Brand, you're not "brandy"! They will excommunicate you and in a moment they will escort you out of the temple. They will erase your name from the list of brand-believers, and write you up in the book of enemies instead. It will all happen so fast, that even after months you mistake the pronouns: our brand... at our company... we invented... we wrote it too... we built that house. You realize, cough quickly and disturbed, and correct yourself: they built it, they wrote it, they showed that movie.
Whilst you're a good follower, instead of ME, HE, YOU, it's US. If your loyalty is not self-surrender, in moments YOU will be out, outside of THEM, where you can be ME again, though without money. Trap.
How much of yourself do you give to the company?

The ramblings of my first love, Sophie, about jealousy:

"I got caught between crossfire, I have to accommodate to the standards of my company and my husband. I can't say no to the weekend trip, because the ink hasn't quite even dried on my promotion yet, and they do really need me for the meetings. However, I'm also a married woman, they can't expect me to act as a hostess. I didn't even think of this whole bikini thing until Peter pointed that question at me. Afterwards it did shine up that John mentioned something that if we can't win them over at the presentation, we can work on them during the evening relaxation.
For one thing, Peter's stances absolutely upset me, but on the other side I can completely understand him. Do they really expect me to slip into my little bathing suit and splash around together in the pool? Is it my duty to do so? On the other hand, why does Peter think that if I go to the wellness center with my colleagues for the weekend it automatically means I want to sleep with them? I guess Peter doesn't even think with one, but all of them whilst I'm there... Why doesn't he trust me? Why did his jealousy become unbearable, whilst he's emailing with fifty other women? If I ask anything, he just yells it's business mailing, and attacks me for digging into his mail. But I don't dig, it's only the computer being shared, and he always keeps his inbox open. And what's seen can not be unseen.
I know he's in a really rough place now, so again it will be me compromising, even though I can bear the cheap little compromises less and less. How long do I have to bear? Will it ever be better at all?"

First Love

What would you do for it?

You would think it's just freak chance that she was the first. After all, this is no more than a chronological order, usually the first one has nothing to do with the true one. Love is the emphasis here, first is just an ordinal, followed by more and more until you find that true one, your mate - if you find it at all.

But it's not like that. The first one will follow you all your life, no matter how it was or how it ended. The first one will take a piece of you along, if you're lucky, it will go nicely gift-wrapped with a ribbon and a bow, if your fate is not that, bitten, ripped out, tearing a big chunk out from the living flesh.

For years I don't even think of Sophie, then she just pops to my mind from something small, a straw tipping out of the glass or a drop of rain rolling down the window glass.
It wasn't an easy break up, we both got our share of injuries, we didn't even talk for long months afterwards. Then one day - you would think it's by chance, but believe it, it's not - we ran into each other at Moscow Square. Maybe if we notice each other earlier than the last moment before literally bumping into each other, maybe if we have some time to prepare ourselves, take a deep breath and decide, everything would've been different: most likely we would've just hung our heads down and get out of each other's sight.
But this way we were just standing there, stammering and stuttering, and of course the old and well-practiced move swept our faces together, a superficial, accidental - but of course! - kiss on the lips, that of course made everything even more difficult. Then slowly we start to chat, question after question, even the fifth tram leaves us. When we freeze through, we continue the talk in a nearby coffee shop.
We were surprisingly honest, and even though I did think of how good the familiar touch would feel - just like in the old times, after a long and nice talk ending up in each other's arms, but somehow it didn't fit into our re-dimensioned, reborn relationship. I just wanted to talk, complain, laugh, play without a mask on.
It was already dark when she realized she had to run, we quickly exchanged phone numbers, agreed that we won't lose sight of each other this time. And then and there we were absolutely serious about it - not so much the next day.

Years passed by. I heard that she got married, from an old girlfriend of hers I heard she was happy.
Then she came to the opening night of my first book.
She waited through the official part, got her copy signed and told me smiling that in one of my heroines, Soph, she recognized herself. I tried to say it was just coincidence, she just flicked her hand. "Nothing is coincidental" - she said with a mysterious face. I get the shivers if I think that she may have sensed it then, what will happen to her, them, us...
Altough I invited her to the banquet, she didn't come. She gave me her number and we agreed to stay in touch.

Another two and a half years passed, so I was absolutely shocked when I heard her voice over the phone. She asked me to meet for a talk. She said she was afraid.
We met four our five times, I'll tell about those later.
I felt she was exaggerating. But if I paid more attention then... (Three cheap, stupid dots - like if it solved anything that I swallow the end of it, like if I could make all of it never happened, all that I messed up so bad.)
I will be honest, in this blog I want to atone, I want to pay honors to the woman who - now I know - was not the first in my life just by freak chance.

The first is always a reference point. Not just for you, also for your later lovers who want to own your past, they want the selfless, giving flame, the flame that was high in you before you first got yourself burnt, so you dared to, you wanted to fly close to the fire, you weren't worried about your personality, you opened up, you melted, you gave. And no one is capable of doing it again spontaneously. Maybe consciously, learning to make yourself believe you do, but if you look deep inside you, it's just acting, miming to give up your stances.
It's hard to tell your partner that you're meeting your first lover. He knows it too, but you know it too, that you're searching for your past, going back to the springs, you want to relive the irreversible past armed with all the knowledge you have since then. Like if you could go back in time and change your fate.
Of course, it's a dead end to think it can succeed.
I don't believe that. That's why I never looked for her. But now she came to me, she asked for my help. And she didn't want to just hang on to me, she didn't want to rewrite the past to redefine herself. She wanted to save her marriage, and I didn't help her in that, but in the meantime we swerved onto dangerous paths where it's easy to lose your way. And maybe we did...

Her girlfriend looked me up a few weeks ago, she told me what happened. She gave me a CD and asked me to write the hell Sophie lived through, because she deserves to be seen as the victim, not the cause of the events.

The disc had a single document on it. My first lover's secret diary. I decided that, no matter how much it hurts, I will make it public. Just as I will publish her husband's blog too, that I found online. Crisis Manager - that's how Peter called himself. Irony of fate:

After two weeks I even started to think of suicide. I can't fulfill my duty of supporting my family, so why live. But I do love Sophie. Do I love Sophie? Everything's value changed. In one moment, you work for a cool company, in the media to top it off, and in the next instance you're on the street. I sent my resume to everyone, and the first answers came in. We are sorry, but it's a recession... I called a few acquaintances in the media business, but all they kept saying was that it's hard times for them too, they fight for their jobs day to day too. And all our friends, when I mentioned it, just thought I wanted to borrow money, so they shook me off quickly. The noose started to tighten, and I was left there alone.

I found no mentions of this period in Sophie's diary. Perhaps then she didn't quite sense how grave the problems are.