Fortunately this is not THAT kind of dear John letter.
Seven months ago I invaded your space. It's hard to sit about five feet to the right of a crazy girl, isn't it?
I get that we work in a test lab which is set up like a classroom because that's where all the pc's are. But these desks make me fidgety because they're a little too high, and there is no keyboard tray, and the old clunker monitor is a little too low and I can't adjust the angle. So I am up high but then I slump forward and lean on my one elbow and I shift and sigh a lot. Sorry about that.
The daily nosebleeds have let up pretty much - yay! I know you probably think I'm a total hypochondriac when I sneeze, blow my nose, and then use antibacterial gel. But you all use my pc's too, and I don't want to contaminate anything. Just so you know, I feel totally awkward whenever I put chapstick or hand lotion on, because I know you see me -- but that soap in the ladies room turns my hands into the sahara. I try not to overload you guys with perfumey moisturizers. But who is wearing old spice these days? I know it's not you.. And it's also not one of the new modern ones. It is the original version, the one I asterisk as Crusty Old Sailor.
Thanks for the nice emails you all sent after my surgery. I know I worked two weeks in January, then disappeared for a month. (Let's use that word "worked" loosely, since for the first three days I had no idea how to switch my monitor from one system box to the next. )
Thanks for not saying "what is your DEAL, woman?" when I cried all day because my hair was falling out from the chemo. Or when I adjusted the wig 12,000 times. More sighing. Hmm. You wear headphones a lot, don't you?
Thank you for not remarking on the bad chemo days when I dragged myself in around 9:15. I couldn't have taken so much as a jovial "it's about time!" some of those days.
Thank you for not making any snarky remarks when I left an hour or two early EVERY DAY FOR SEVEN WEEKS for radiation, and got most of the easiest assignments to help make that possible.
Thank you for not remarking on my personal thermostat issues. I know I come in some of these summer mornings bundled up - like yesterday, a shirt, sweater, denim jacket. The outer layers come and go all day long, don't they? And hotflashes!! I turn on my fan... And a few minutes later it's off. Good, good times.
I know I am like Tigger or something. Up to go get a drink, then of course to the ladies' room. Repeat, often. You just sit there and work, and you are somehow still able to smile at me - like when some fool can't get their snack out of the vending machine that is literally a thin wall away from you, and Fool starts crashing and rocking the machine, and we look at each other and just roll our eyes... You know you're more likely to die from a vending machine falling on you than from a shark attack, right? It's true. I read it on the Internets.
So anyway, I gotta get back to work
(psych! It's Saturday. I'm gonna go out and plant some mums. But really, thanks man.)