Emotional Rescue

Wasn't that the title of some sappy, semi-sexy bad 70's song? I've been feeling lately that I need someone to come to my emotional rescue. Someone other than Eli Lilly and his wonder drug, Prozac.

The big news this week is that I made it to my 37th year! When I was a child, I always dreamed that I would die when I was 36. I know, it's more than a little bit morbid and neurotic, but I really believed that 36 was as good as it was going to get for me. I believed it so much that in the last few days before my 37th birthday, I avoided any unnecessary trips in the car believing that a Mack truck was waiting for me in the wings. It's good to be 37. I feel a bit relieved of the burden of impending doom. Went out for dinner with my girlfriends, engaged in nasty and inappropriate talk, drank too much plum wine, and had a great time.

Work has been all but doing me in lately. I don't want this blog to be about my career, but in my position, I deal with a lot of interesting personalities. The most interesting one that I'm dealing with currently is a classic case of narcissism. This woman truly is a piece of work. It's difficult for me to wrap my arms around the notion that someone can really believe the universe revolves around him/her, but this individual indeed believes that. She cannot be thanked enough, cannot be coddled enough, cannot throw enough people under the bus enough to make herself look better. She is a study in human psychology... and she often brings me to my knees. For those of you that know me well, you understand that I don't deal well with conflict. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. This woman can smile at you while she's turning the knife in your back. My outlook on life is, "can't we all just get along?" She's teaching me a lot of lessons.

I received a birthday card from my dad inviting me to dinner. Again, those of you who know me well know what kind of relationship (or lack thereof) that I have with my biological father. This invitation has "conflict" written all over it. It makes me queasy even thinking about it. Nevertheless, my dad, my sister, and I are meeting on April Fool's Day to hash out the last 37 years of frustration, neglect, anger, and resentment. THAT should make for an interesting follow-up blog!