The Plight of Empathy Blocking Medications at Christmas

I think my medication may be blocking my ability to empathize with my coworkers. For example, one of my coworkers, let’s call her Last Nerve (because she’s really good at getting on mine) comes into the office to discuss the number of presents she’s bought for her children for Christmas. I don’t have kids, neither does my office mate, Rat Girl. We have animals instead of children. I don’t put up a tree because the cats will destroy it. I don’t buy them Christmas presents because they are animals and don’t know what Christmas is. So I don’t see the point of Last Nerve regaling me with a long list of what she’s bought for the kids. I don’t really care. The topper is that she will then complain about how much money she spent on them. Is she expecting sympathy or asking for a donation? I don’t know what to say. I give to charity at Christmas and rarely spend much on gifts. If I tell her that I think it’s silly to spend that much on her kids, she’s going to get mad. I usually sit there and nod. Sometimes, I say “oh dear” or “oh no”. I try to follow Mom’s advice, if I don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. I wonder, is there a nice way to tell someone that I don’t give a damn about her family’s Christmas expenditures? Probably not.

She’s worried that her oldest child (the 9 year old) is going to find out there’s no Santa. Seriously? He doesn’t already know? I knew when I was 5. Please! Last Nerve and her husband work frantically to arrange the elf scout in different places so that the kids will think he flew back to the North Pole and told Santa all about their activities. I hadn’t heard about the elf scout and made the mistake of saying “elf scout?”. Now I get to see pictures every day. Yea me!

I did hear about a mother who put the elf scout in Barbie’s car for the kids to find. Unfortunately the family dog found it first. The elf scout was ripped apart. I’m still laughing about that. But evidently it was very traumatic for the children. After I picked myself up from where I’d fallen out of my chair laughing, I told my shocked coworkers that it was my meds causing the laughter. Those damn empathy blocking medications! It’s so sad that I can’t feel any sympathy for those poor traumatized children who won’t get presents from Santa this year because their dog ate his scout.


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