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Whistleblowers Anonymous

I just did a thing I can’t talk about explicitly, where I told a bunch of people from an important office a bunch of details about an event that should never have happened in the first place, and they nodded seriously while taking notes.

Anyone who has ever talked to me for more than ninety consecutive seconds can tell you that if there are two things I’m bad at, it’s not talking about things explicitly and articulating thoughts about frustrating things in a polite but clear manner.


They kept asking questions in hushed, we’re-listening-carefully voices, and I kept hearing my voice get louder and angrier, and somehow my entire blouse is soaked in nervous-person sweat. I hate confrontation but apparently I hate this entire thing I can’t really talk about even more. I especially hate the people who did the thing for creating a situation where I have to get over myself or compromise my principles. I’d much rather keep my principles quietly in the back of a closet and not talk to anyone.

They can’t tell me if anything will come from it, though it should result in rolling heads.

I have never been so torn between adrenaline screams because RIGHT! FUCKING! THING! and curling up under my desk to have a good cry because the right thing feels awful.

It’s six more hours of acting professional until I can go home to FluterDogs.
Pray for me.

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