Business of the Day

126.

There is nothing on my calendar today except an informal meeting with TOM, Julie and the Senator acting as government liaison at 1300. The tire screeching skid of a stop to the twenty-four/seven intensity of an ongoing operation is always a bit of a shock to my central nervous system. Sometimes it takes days to recover and return to any type of normality, yet sometimes weeks. This one has all the markings of the latter. I am nervous, anxious, agitated and craving sweets. Every muscle in my body screams with the deep dullness of inflammation, worse is the mental condition branded ‘brain fog’ by the medical community, an accurate forecast having little to do with meteorology. Our psychology staff of counselors has long been interested in my responses to stress, citing many times their four chief areas of concern; sensing, intuition, critical thinking and feeling. In turn they ask me to describe, explain, predict and control the associated responses. They tell me that a trend is developing, over the last several years indicating that I possibly could be entering a new phase of ‘wellness,’ a term I detest, but listen with interest as they describe with uncanny accuracy that I am riding the roller-coaster of low level bi-polarity or what we used to call manic-depression, something every solder understands as the hangover from active duty on the front lines and the post traumatic stress that inevitably follows. They suggest drugs but I prefer a more organic and wholistic, borderline naturopathic remedy, that of rest, good food and plenty of exercise. My mood is immediately elevated as I consider the pleasant associations with these basic tactics, all ironically combined to manage the relentless physic stress’ we face in this line of employment. I can only imagine the ordeal facing the average Joe and Jane as they toil for hourly wages specifically designed to keep them chained to the assembly line like human grist to the corrupt capitalistic mill of indentured servitude. I am sure that at one point in our session today the Senator will remind us that we are all a part of the same hypocrisy.

With these considerations swirling into and out of my field of consciousness I prepare for the afternoon meeting to be conducted in the political part of DC known as ‘The Hill.’ I decide to use the hotel workout center for a quick circuit before a light breakfast. In forty minutes flat I navigate through the facility’s woefully outdated equipment, with a routine I developed many years ago emphasizing legs, core and arms. I decide to add the complimentary cardio component later in the day, reminding myself that there is nothing like a brisk run to turn thick pea-soup fog into mental sunshine.

There is another topic I must accept - or reject - before we sit down with the Senator. It is my ‘terns of endearment’ with Julie. There is no doubting that our relationship has taken another high-speed turn on its circuitous route towards romantic stasis. The two-wheel skid that we piloted the other night has parked us precariously in the garage of change. What do I really want out of this? What is she wanting? We both know that in this line of work, relationships of any lasting potential are rare. We both understand that to effectively perform our duties it is virtually impossible to be anything but alone. It is something we accept as the reality of our work. Julie found this to be true in her relationship with Davis. Adding the enormous responsibility of a fully functioning relationship to the mix of complete immersion into our work and its myriad demands is a sure-fire recipe for disaster. Since my indoctrination into the service I have only seen a handful of relationship success stories, something our staff of shrinks routinely dismisses as completely understandable and almost ‘normal,’ a catch-22 of post cold-war psychosis. In other words, we are married to our work.

I take a hot shower and dry with a huge monogrammed cotton towel. Having had a day to travel the short distance from downtown to my cabin and back, I dress in a most conservative grey suit and striped red tie, the Senator is a Republican, costume of the day, careful to properly align my starred and striped lapel pin. Julie will acknowledge the shallow charade but I am required by custom, or perhaps by necessity in this case, to present myself as a part of the solution, and not as its more rebellious counter, part of the problem.

Consternations temporarily assuaged, I grab a chilled glass of fresh orange juice from the service cart and begin the business of the day.