Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Contrast.
I’ve had a narrow escape. This time, I’m not taking the blame. Someone who stepped in to help me is.
One of the projects I’ve been working on in my mundane life (as opposed to the more magickal efforts that don’t yet pay the bills) has been riddled with problems since Day One. I explained to them how to handle a situation and they blew me off. It wasn’t “their” way of doing business. But when they hit a brick wall and the situation took them six weeks to clear up instead of the four hours I could have done it in, I somehow got blamed. Showing them how to do the work, after all, was my responsibility even if I had no measure of enforcement.
A colleague stepped in to help with another facet and when they botched her advice, she got blamed. Actually, we both did, because I’m the one who suggested they use her template to save them weeks of time to create a new one.
Something else happened more recently and suddenly fingers were pointed at me, when all I’d done was follow procedure according to how I interpreted it, without using any mind reading skills (apparently a mistake, that). I’m still on thin ice on that one, but I can defend myself. It’s the politics I’m concerned about because a scapegoat is needed.
That one’s more of a Tower Card situation and I’ll just hold my breath for now.
I’d asked the Universe to keep me in a protected way throughout December, and I certainly was. Before and after is anyone’s guess, but because I was away at Daddy’s funeral, I wasn’t doing my usual tasks and someone else willingly took over some duties for me. I was grateful. The people she volunteered to help were grateful.
Until someone made a mistake.
It took about .068 seconds for someone to point a finger at my stand-in and blame her for something she (nor I) has ever touched.
Had I not been away on bereavement leave, that blame would have been assigned to me.
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