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Whacked

What the heck, I thought to myself, why not?

Marc and I were at a resort in the Florida Keys, at one of those spoil you rotten reward trips that insurance companies put on for their big producers, and Marc had produced big so he, meaning we, had been invited to attend. The premiere event on this trip was a big Super Bowl party, complete with huge TV screens, endless food buffets, and free-flowing alcohol. It was like an adult version of a celebrity kid's birthday party complete with a portrait artist, face painter, and a psychic.

I loved the portrait artist, too.

"Wanna check out the psychic?" Marc asked.


"Nah, I'm not into that woo woo stuff," I replied. I had been to a psychic once before and was left unimpressed by the experience. So, one set up at a insurance party reading the aura's of drunk exec's was not all that appealing.


"Oh, come on, what else are you going to do?" Marc asked convincingly. And he was right. I was not at all interested in participating in the food and drink fest. I was very uncomfortable around the abundance of decadent food at these events. I found my self-control kick into overdrive, leaving me to watch in envious judgment as people balanced their frosty cocktails in one hand while loading plates with fare from pasta bars, burrito stations, and "make your own sundae" carts. God, these people have no self-control. Disgusting. I needed something to occupy my time during the game until the commercials came on. So, psychic it was.


"What's wrong?" Marc asked as I walked towards him fifteen minutes later, a dazed look on my face. "What did she say?"

"That was…..amazing," I said, trying to maintain my composure, “ I didn’t even say three words!” I proceeded to tell Marc about the session, well, part of it anyway.


"She said that Dylan is pushing my buttons, and it is making me crazy. I need to maintain boundaries when he pushes limits" I relayed to Marc, who was nodding along in agreement. "She also said that you and I need to be on the same page because he is running the household instead of us."


"She's whacked," Marc replied and headed back to the festivities inside.


She wasn't whacked. She was right. Dylan, who was twelve at the time, was constantly testing us, and his mouthy, disrespectful, and increasingly volatile behavior was stressing me out. Where I was overcompensating by cracking down hard with consequences, Marc was more lenient, and sensing the divide, Dylan was taking advantage.

A rare lounge chair moment. I wasn’t one to spend vacations sitting still. ( Key West, 2013)

Needless to say, I was sold. The woman knew her stuff, which made the rest of my session, the part I didn't share with Marc, hard for me to ignore. Although I tried. I spent the rest of the evening, making mindless small talk while sipping my one self- permitted glass of wine, avoiding the ravioli, and counting the minutes until I could go back to our room. But once in the quiet of my own space, her words began spinning in my head like letters in a Bingo cage and spilling out onto the pages of the journal in my lap.


Saw a psychic today. She told me:


I isolate too much. It's essential not to do that even if it means I must push myself to be social.


I need to learn how to go with the flow more. I have too many rules and have created too much structure in my life.


I'm not in the right business, but should stay for now as it keeps me from isolating.


I am really meant to be creative. I must find an outlet.


I am a person who always needs to be in control.


It accurately described the person I knew I had become but, sadly, not the person I knew I really was.





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