The End Of Peggy.

It wasn’t long before I realized that Peggy was dead weight. Her reaction to my de-friending became increasingly hostile. Even Joel had no idea how to handle her; I’d reached my breaking point. I knew I had to let her go.

I rehearsed my speech in the shower for five consecutive mornings. It went something like this.

“Peggy. Over the past several weeks, you’ve proven to be a valuable asset to Frog Communications; your torch burns bright– you inspire. Unfortunately, you have also proven to be extremely unprofessional. You have crossed many lines, with me, with Joel and with clients as well. I think you’d be a much better fit somewhere else.”

Every time my monologue resounded from the steam drenched ceiling of my bathroom it rang less and less true; I hated myself on behalf of she, Joel, and even myself. But I had to do it.

A few days later, Peggy was cut loose completely. She took the news much better than I’d expected. She went silently back to Calgary, where she found work almost as soon as her plane touched down.

I let Joel go too, under the guise of “stripping the company down to regain our initial focus”; he went to Calgary too– I’d always wondered about the two of them.

While I was saddened by the loss of my fellow employees, I felt strangely relieved by their respective departures. Suddenly, I had more time to work free of the drama my imagination had deeply instilled into the whole frog venture. Within a week, I’d signed three contracts. I was tweeting up a storm via the coffee shop’s wifi signal across the street of my makeshift office, The Beagle Pub.

To be quite honest, I struggled under the now-solitary-burden of my recently aquired work load. I had no Frog Communications related diversions anymore; I was faced with my own solitary, entrepreneurial manifestation of myself. And I hated “him”.

Despite all of this “self” loathing, I carried on. I created accounts. I friended and followed any and everyone within my frog-grasp, and they followed suit. I guess I was successful; I was able to go to the pub more. But more and more, I got distracted.

Peggy, Joel, Freebo, Freebo the second, and the multitude of other internet personas I had created over the past decade at once gave up their respective ghosts, infecting swine, bedbugs and my own imaginary dreamworld: I was commanded to write once again. And so I did.

I bucked the hallucinatory approach I had accustomed myself to with Luc’s story, in favour of a realistic account of life, the self same account you now hold in your hands. My levels of exhaustion increased exponentially (I’ve been here for 10 hours, I kid you not).

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This entry was posted in Around Victoria, Creative Non-Fiction, Journals, Mental Health, Writing Strategies and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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