Dear Spock,
What a day. What a headache.
I think I need a drink. Another one, to be exact. Normally I'd know to cut myself off already, what with drinking brandy with Jim, and tranya with Balok, but there is a time when an old country doctor needs a stiff shot of whisky and that time is now.
I'm not even sure where to start. Did I mention in my last letter that I didn't want to be a blasted nuisance to the whole ship? Because if that was the idea for writing these, it's not working. I even got in a yelling match with Jim today. Lord knows it isn't the first time that's happened, and probably not the last time, but since I'm still fairly new around here I have a feeling I could've behaved better in front of the bridge crew.
Of course, I'm not saying Jim couldn't have behaved better himself. Do I even need to explain? Walks out of Sickbay without a shirt on again (I swear he's got something against wearing shirts), pushes that poor kid Bailey nearly to the breaking point, and for God's sake he even complains about eating salad. Eating salad! What is he, a four-year-old?
So why am I writing to you rather than to Jim? Well, first of all, I apologized to him, and I meant it. I of all people should know how stress effects people, and Jim had a lot on his mind today, what with the powerful unknown alien attacking our ship. Or at least I think he was attacking. He said something about testing rather than attacking when we finally met him. I don't know. I wasn't sure what to make of it before the tranya, I didn't know what to make of it after the tranya, and I sure as hell don't know what to make of it after the whisky. Anyway, I'm writing to you... well, I guess because my last letter to you was therapeutic. And who else, really? I don't know, I just can't feel better if I rant at Jim. It's kind of like ranting at a puppy. Can't stay mad at him for long. He is an old friend of mine, after all. So you're left as the addressee.
I think stress brings out the human in you, actually. I've looked at your medical records, of course. Half-human, that explains it. Or most of it. I have to wonder just how much human you actually inherited - it can't be that healthy to suppress your human side to a Vulcan degree, but I'll just keep an eye on you. You actually seemed more human today than usual, though. Proud of your parents, and don't think I didn't see you almost smiling over the idea of learning poker. I might have to hold you to that. If nothing else playing a game with you might tell me a bit more about what's behind that stone face of yours, so I can get a better read on this whole matter of Vulcan emotions.
On second thought, you might be too good at poker faces already. Do I really need to teach you a game that relies on an unreadable face? I'll have to think about that when I'm not full of a bunch of alcoholic beverages that I probably didn't need in the first place.
From the sound of it I'll be having an interesting day tomorrow, so I think it's about time I put the glass away and try to sleep. The hangover won't be pretty.
- Doctor Leonard McCoy
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