Empty Inbox

How long had I been sitting in my chair, pushed against my desk, staring at my computer screen? Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter. No matter how unbothered I pretended to be, how hard I blinked, or how loudly I cussed, my email remained empty. Or, the inbox did, at least.

Sating at my inbox all day hadn’t become my main hobby on purpose. I’d tried to distract myself in the past. I’d turned on TV shows, tried to watch movies, and even partook in a bit of online window shopping. They all ended the same way, though: discomfort, unexplainable frustration, and the inevitable return to the inbox. It was always empty.

My thoughts started racing. Had I made a typo? I surely spelled that one word wrong again, right? After a quintuple check, just to be sure, the questions melted away. I’d expressed my intentions clearly and with no typos to speak of. Did I just send it at a bad time? A quick review of their schedules showed that I had actually sent it during the small window of time when each team member was supposed to be dealing with their emails. More than three hours had passed since then.

The shadows seemed to draw a bit closer. My breathing sped up. Maybe they thought my work wad bad, and they’re just trying to find the nicest way to tell me. What if they secretly hated me? This might be their queue to get me booted from the company. I bet they’ve made a complaint to my boss. They spelled out all the reasons how I’d failed them and why I shouldn’t have a job anymore. He’s reading it now, isn’t he? He’s nodding at each point, right? He agrees. I’ll go to bed tonight with no answers, and then wake up not to a response from the team, but from the boss himself. My termination notice.

My head was spinning, and it was getting harder to breathe. My roomy home office suddenly felt way too small. I clutched my chest. My heart was pounding way too fast and way too loud. Butterflies turned to snakes writhing in my stomach. I closed my eyes.

“Stop. Inhale. Hold for one, two, three, four seconds. Exhale slowly. Repeat. Notice the cold floor beneath your feet. Feel the slightly uncomfortable chair underneath and behind you. Look up and admire how poorly you painted the ceiling. Breathe deeply again.” I felt incredibly stupid as I talked myself through my grounding routine, but it helped. The snakes turned back to butterflies, then faded into nothing. My chest relaxed, as did my shoulders and jaw. My heart took its sweet time to slow down, though. I glanced back at the monitor. No new emails. I closed my eyes and leaned back.

“None of that was true, and you know it. They shower you in praise constantly. The few criticisms your work has received have been extremely mild and easy to adjust to. They appreciate your contributions. You do good work. They’re probably just busy. Life happens. They’ll get back you.” My breathing had slowed and deepened. Eventually, my heart realized it was preparing me for a marathon that wasn’t happening and also slowed. I smiled warmly as memories of my previous successes danced on the back of my eyelids.

Suddenly, my computer made a noise. The notification sound. I jumped like a fire alarm had gone off. My breathing quickened and my heart raced again. The butterflies filled my stomach in force. I wiggled the mouse intensely, hoping the force of my shake would make the screen wake up faster. Didn’t it know there was an important message waiting for me? Finally, five seconds after the notification came through, I read the subject line:

Hey, we missed you! Check out our Fall stock!

My shoulders dropped. I had bought a sub par product five years prior, and that had apparently given the store the right to send me a promotional email every few days. I dragged it to the trash with malice. If the unsubscribe button had ever functioned, this wouldn’t be necessary.

I leaned back in my chair, wrapped in anxiety and disappointment yet again. I’d worked with these people for years, and it was always like this. Responses and payments delayed by multiple days, apologies and excuses delivered alongside the money or necessary information, and my replies of “No worries!” or “Not a problem, I get it!” But it was always a problem, I never “got it,” and there was always worry. So much worry. And for what? A few bucks? It wasn’t worth it.

I sat up. It wasn’t worth it. The words echoed in my head. They’d crossed my mind before, but they hadn’t hit me quite like this before. No, it really wasn’t worth it. It had been in the beginning, of course, but I’d built a portfolio now, and I could take it anywhere. I’d gained new social skills that would make any other job much easier to navigate. I’d done very well for these guys, so there were some good references. Most importantly, I had actually had confidence in myself. I mostly understood what I was capable of, and knew how to pivot when I turned out to be wrong. With all of this, I could get double or even triple the pay for the exact same amount of work somewhere else.

A powerful mixture of hope and adrenaline flowed through my veins. I minimized my email and opened a fresh browser tab. Entering just a few keywords revealed a wealth of opportunities. Hours passed as I browsed, compared, and bookmarked the ones that looked promising. Actually getting accepted would be a challenge, but that didn’t matter right now. I had options, meaning I was no longer trapped.

I paused when I saw something change out the window. A quick glimpse revealed that the dusk to dawn lights on my neighbors house had realized that the sun had set. They turned on, fruitlessly trying to fight against the night despite their weak bulbs. My stomach growled, and I checked my phone. I’d missed dinner by an hour. I smiled and quietly chuckled as I closed all of the tabs, shut down the computer, and headed to the kitchen.

I decided to keep dinner simple: leftovers. I reheated a plate of spaghetti in the microwave and sat down at the table only to let it get cold as I drafted cover letters on my phone. My brain bounced ideas around about what the starting line of the message I’d send my boss telling him I’d moved on to other opportunities should be. Eventually, I turned on a comedy special I’d intended to watch for ages. I laughed and nearly choked countless times as I shoveled the cold spaghetti into my mouth. Afterward, I made a cup of coffee and covered the couch in snacks and blankets. It was movie night now. I stayed up for many more hours before the climax of a particularly boring one lulled me to sleep and directed my strange dreams.

The next morning, I awoke with a groan. My neck had a crick on each side, and my back reminded me why I slept on a specialty mattress. As I sat up and stretched my neck, I remembered the night before, and the cause of my anguish: my inbox. I picked up my phone as it clung to life. The notification panel said there was an email waiting for me. I was suddenly brought back to yesterday: the constant waiting, the frustration, the panic attack. My body began its routine as my heartbeat increased. I shook my head and forced a laugh as I searched for the TV remote. Once I recovered it, I turned on a new movie and swaddled myself in a fuzzy blanket. It was their turn to wait.