GITJ Post 380: An Email to a Friend

Alright, I think I’m ready, I thought to myself, straightening my tie as best I could in the meager reflection of my office window. I hadn’t tied one of these things in a while, nor had I worn a suit, and I was honestly glad I could manage it. I had learned not to take anything for granted these days, finding myself unable to do even the most simple things. And not just things, like, reaching up to high shelves or tasks that required physical strength. Just yesterday, I had to look at my sneakers for almost a minute before I remembered how to tie them. Stress is a bitch, right?

Anyway, back to the suit. The three-piece that the girls had gotten for me was a cheap, silly-little number probably made for a kid headed to his Bar Mitzvah, but they’d had it custom tailored for me. Surprisingly, it fit my shrunk-ass self pretty well. A deep blue, with a nice light-blue shirt and dark blue tie. Something that’d look good on camera, I was told.

I took a deep breath and tried to chuckle to myself.

It was almost 11:30, almost time for this photoshoot the girls had arranged, something that Channel 5 wanted to do before the news piece about the office expansion. It was going to be airing this weekend and they wanted some B-roll for what they’d be airing, some still photos, maybe some quick shots for atmosphere.

All these changes that were happening were difficult to wrap my head around. My feelings on it were different day-to-day, sometimes moment-to-moment. Every time I tried to sit down and think about what was really happening something would come along and distract me, often a member of the opposite sex which were - to say the least -  plentiful these days. On the rare occasion that I could think straight I ended up stressing myself out,

It felt  like my business, my practice, and my livelihood had been taken out of my hands and sent on this out-of-control bullet train. Too much was happening too fast. I was worried that it was too risky, too much, and that it was all going to  be a financial disaster.

I had to admit, though, that it was a little exciting, and that I felt  kind of proud to be a part of it sometimes. This place was primed to be a major hub of health care (mostly for women) in the area, and if I let myself enjoy the ride and take comfort in trusting that the people (let’s face it, again: women) around me, it could feel pretty awesome.

The women had it all under control, and the scenery was nothing to sneeze at, either. Jesus, I was surrounded more and more each day by some of the prettiest girls on the planet, and dating the queen bee herself. Melissa was getting to be like a fucking goddess, wasn’t she?

Thinking of her, there were times that I could ignore the haha existential dread of an impending gynarchy that would otherwise consume my every thought. Right now was one of those times, and as I looked at my reflection and straightened my tie once again, I steadied myself. I had been thrown off a bit earlier, after I’d awoken on my office cot and realized I’d been asleep since last night’s dinner with Melissa in the breakroom. Had I been here all night? For some reason I felt I hadn’t. Like, why was I in different clothes?

I had a rare moment where I was alone. Where I could think without being distracted. In the small window of time I had to myself before Angie came in with my suit I decided to look at some emails. Aside from the professional communications, ads and routine garbage I dealt with daily, there’d been a message from a guy I knew - a friend, Rich, a fellow geriatrician that I would see yearly at the AAG conference. He had apparently been trying to reach out to me over the weekend. Not having my phone, or the ability to text, was a bummer.

At the conference he’d ribbed me about Melissa. Even two months ago before all these extra inches she’d cut quite the eye-popping figure among all the other attendees, and he had a good idea why I’d hired her. I’d also told him how I’d been feeling back then, early in this whole thing. I figured, as a friend, he deserved to know what’s been going on with me...

...but as I began typing out this email, a reply to him, I slowly started feeling…less good. The first paragraph went fine, the second brought on a weird fluttering in my gut, an indecision. By the time I started trying to explain my condition - which to a fellow physician I could have done better - my hands had started to shake. I began to feel nauseous and, well, had to stop. It took all my will, in fact, to hover my cursor over the “send” button  Boy, maybe I need to lay down again, I thought to myself, I’m really stressed.

And then in came Angie. God did she make me nervous.

So, yeah, she brought me my suit, insisted on her morning kiss, and got a glance at this email before I’d sent it. That had made me even more nervous, and despite her protests I asked her to leave so I could get into my clothes. God help me the woman offered to help me change; I declined as politely as I could.

As soon as she’d left, I went back to the email. My eyes had begun to water as I tried reading it over, and I felt a pang of a headache when I’d actually clicked “send”. Jesus, maybe I need glasses finally? Something to use at the computer? It was really throwing me off. So hard to focus.

My headache, my sweaty palms and my general feeling of unease began to fade as I stood up from my desk, once the email was out into the ether. I still had a nagging feeling from some inside voice that I shouldn’t have sent that email. It was like I’d just done something wrong, that I’d…again, god help me, misbehaved. I’d been shivering, feeling a bit cold ever since I’d gotten out of bed and worse since working at the computer, but as I set myself to getting dressed I was slowly able to ignore it.

Ok - tie: check. Jacket: check. Pants, belt, new shoes they got for me, a size freakin’ 6: check.

11:28 AM, right on time. Alright, I think I’m ready. Let’s do it!

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thank you again to RiF, my editor-at-large