Last Monday I was feeling a little under the weather. You know, that feeling of not quite getting everything out of life that I should be getting feeling. It wasn't like I woke up one morning feeling it, more like it snuck up on me gradually until I reached a point of recognizing it, then owning it, as they are wont to say in the best writer's circles these days. At first I consulted my trusty medical book to check the symptoms, feeling of blindness, feelings of unself worth, a tad despairing and worst of all an overarching sense of nobadiness. Weltschmerz, or sickness of the spirit, was the best collective noun I could muster for my apparent condition. That search took me along to the internet, but a few clicks on WebMD only served to reveal that I could be dying from some twelve different and serious conditions. At that point I called the office of my GP to make an appointment for the middle of the week. Based on my self examination and the usual diagnosis and blood work, he told me that at first blush he couldn't find anything amiss. The blood work results only confirmed his hypothesis. He suggested, moreover, that I see a shrink, that my condition might be really something inside my head. I thanked him for his advice and spent the best part of my work day contemplating it. A mid afternoon visit to the restroom culminating and someone with sunken eyes staring back at me sealed it. Clearly my condition wasn't going away any time soon. I called and made an appointment with a doctor Leah on Friday morning. That Friday I was seated in the waiting room, surely one of my favorite spots, feeling a deep sense of foreboding, as if I was about to encounter an epiphany that I really had no wish to confront. My name was called and the receptionist escorted me into doctor Lee's sparsely finished consulting room, a couch, a chair, a potted aspadestra, and two framed degrees. As I was standing there, doctor Leah entered. I called the couch, she exclaimed, and took charge of the seating. Good morning, why don't you sit there? She pointed to the only chair, and tell me what troubles you. Or if you like, you can take it for a walk around the room, clockwise, anti clockwise, your decision. I chose the latter. Doctor Leah, while I seem to excuse me, did you say seem? I self corrected quickly. I have this this this issue. I have five social media accounts and I'm always, always the odd man out, left out of things, events, photos, opinions, newsfeed, banter. Everyone out there is having a great time, and I'm like missing an action. AWOL. Go on. Well I always seem to be somewhere else and not at the epicenter of the fun. She was quiet for a moment, then asked for specific examples. I told her about three of the most recent. When I finished she stood up and beckoned me to take our place on the couch. You have a condition we call FOMO F O M O Fear of Missing Out. Big problem these days. To date there's no known cure, though I understand that big farmers working day and night to manufacture a drug that will allay people's conditions. In the meantime, I run a support group for like FOMO's on Wednesdays at 7 PM here at the practice, twenty five percent off. I happen to have an opening in that group. You might just find it helpful. Somehow I felt doubly depressed with her news, but decided on the spot to give it a try. Good, she said. See you next Wednesday, she signaled, and I slouched out of there, having hoped to be reborn, but not yet.
