So I moved to my colleague’s office, and on my third day there, I’m in the office doorway, having just arrived, and who should come up the stairs but ol’ BitchFace McHoBag herself. Yeah. Apparently (I later found out in a very acrimonious WhatsApp with my husband, which may or may not have contained phrases like “stupid gutter whore” and “lying, cheating ass”) her advisor’s office is in the building where I work.
Her advisor. Because she needs an advisor because she is a student. I don’t know if I mentioned this at the time, but back in May or so when I asked him if he didn’t see any ethical problems with sleeping with one of his students, his response was “She won’t be a student for much longer.” AS IF THAT MAKES IT OKAY.
But I digress.
I was not brave. I was not strong. I scuttled into my office and cried for four hours. The next day I went to my therapist, who told me that Mr. Husband and Ms. McHoBag didn’t do anything wrong and are probably in love, which, from any angle, is basically exactly The Wrong Thing to Say. But I forced myself to reflect on it because it’s therapy and people keep telling me therapy isn’t supposed to be fun, and that’s how I cried myself into five days of migraine. I finally surfaced from those yesterday.
So yeah. It’s been a hell of a week. I really need to get out of Heidelberg. Like, really.