admissions

Everything is fine.

We met last night at $1 draft night (unlike elsewhere: bad beer in unreasonably small glasses redeemable only because they're always flavor numbing chilled). The bouncers identified me as old when I produced my ID, at which point I asserted said seniority to demand my ID back. Everything was like it had always been. We were at the restaurant where we'd had our first meal together, maybe even the same table.

On the drive home we finally discussed what was going to happen. Which, of course, he had come to a very rehearsed conclusion about and I proceeded to subtly renegotiate to what I wanted. Etc.

Neither of us had fully recognized what was happening until that day almost three weeks ago. Last night he admitted he's going through that thing where he's overstretched. That he's not happy and hasn't felt like himself for a long time. And that he's having second doubts about his profession; which I recognize and understand after seeing half my friends go through it not so long ago.

The trouble-getting-up-and-going-to-class days. My solution was the conclusion that I could walk away at any time and nothing would change; to stop post-surname letters from having authority or power. But everyone has to find their own way out and no one can tell you how to come to peace with something that capitalizes on what would normally be personality flaws, encouraging them to amplify. A choice based on high quality of life that cannibalizes your life. Something that subtly suggests your greatest service as a human is to become as inhuman as possible.

The keys to the kingdom don't come all that cheap.

And in the end, it doesn't end. We fall asleep and it's like it was at the start. For the shortest time it's back to how it used to feel and he's back in the room.