I’m sitting upstairs in my bedroom, in a chair I have set in a far corner, so I can place my laptop actually on my lap in the hope that I will write something. I live in this house alone, although with three cats, but no other humans. I’m older than I care to admit and sometimes sit here, in my colorful wingback chair, and wonder: how did you end up alone in this house?

Maybe because I am difficult. According to one personality test I took recently, I am a “D” for dominating. I took the test as part of a work requirement. I do still work, as I’m not yet old enough to retire. The D-Dominance result did not surprise me, nor anyone I work with.

At work is the only place where I am not alone, although sometimes I wish I were. I work in the office four days a week and at home on Fridays. Whether in person or remote, I dominate conversations, meetings, and sometimes, other people’s ability to get a word in edgewise. I am uncomfortable with this, but I am in a position where I need to push work forward. I am constantly apologizing for interrupting people, for talking over them — but they can be so damn slow to get to the point. Sometimes they are so slow I think they’ve missed the point. Then all of a sudden, they say the point, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from sighing and blurting out “Are you fucking kidding me, you couldn’t have just said that 5 minutes ago?” But often, honestly, it’s just me reacting to stress because there is SO MUCH WORK TO DO in such tight deadline windows. I’m too old for this shit, I think.

I had lunch with a friend of mine and told her about my discomfort with my dominating personality: like a bull in a china shop, I said, all that fine porcelain shattering on the floor and everyone staring at my ugly bull face.

“I never wanted to be this visible,” I said, “I just wanted a low profile at work, but here I am, pushing everyone around. I need to find a zen place because I’m starting to have nightmares.”

Literally, the stress of work is invading my dreams. One night I dreamed that a co-worker I like died, and I was emotionally shattered. I was happy to see her when I went back to work on Monday, her curly hair and impeccable wardrobe of apricot and gold, with her dark brown curls also frosted with gold.

I also dreamed of the cranky middle-aged prick I now have to interact with on a regular basis, with his snowy hair, whiny voice, and need to always be right.

“”This is how it is, right? This isn’t working, right? This is wrong, right?”

When someone constantly demands that you confirm his rightness by always adding that “right?” question at the end of the sentence, that person doesn’t take it well when one shows him he’s wrong. Like a wounded little boy, or a passive aggressive little girl, he pouts and no longer responds to you even when you say, “good morning.” You get the cold shoulder for a while, at least until needs you again. He doesn’t like strong, dominant women…right?

I dreamed that I nearly killed him in an accident, maybe I was barreling out of control in my SUV; this kind of thing happens all the time. You see it on the news: people hitting buildings, fences, buses, and in my dream, I hit this guy. It was one of those sorry-not sorry experiences. Yeah, he was there on Monday also.

Despite all the mood-enhancing drugs (legit prescriptions) I take to control my anxiety, my frustration, and my stress, I still have all three. And lately, work seems to be stronger than any combination of drugs I can take.

I think all of this work-angst is about me getting older, about me getting tired of the daily grind of work, about me no longer wanting to spend time and effort with people who drive me nuts, when I’d rather be home reading a book, or trying to write one, with my laptop actually on my lap.