I once watched two people fall in love and it made me sad. One of them was my roommate, and I was sad because when it happened, I didn't feel anything.

We had all gone to high school together... somehow we were living in the same house. Ivan, the guy, fell for her long time ago. Probably fell out of it after she didn't like him back right away. But you know how guys are? They're ready to like a girl so long as one who's attractive likes them back.

Maybe that's just me and Ivan. Two 20-somethings, no college degree, dead end jobs, and no career outlook. Nothing really to look forward to lifewise.

So why do I feel so excited about Friday night when it swings around? I stock the shelves at Kransz Mart just imagining how it'll feel to sip that first cold 

beer

after work with a nice hot burger. That's all that gets me now. Back in high school I would've gone hogwild for a girl. And when my friend got into a relationship and I was leftout, I would've felt a heavy sadness that made me not want to do anything but stare at social media for days.

So what happened? 

Twitter

says I should blame my job. It's the system. But I'm a white male... so apparently I'm a part of the system. Some days I wish I were just born black or something. But then I know how that would sound to people. I don't even know my privilege. 

"The fact that you get to complain about this, is your privilege." I imagine being told. I imagined it so much that I'm telling it to myself. Telling it like words that are more real than words I've spoken to any other human being in the past four weeks.

What's the cause of my detachment? I'm drifting further and further from anything considered real social interaction... like an astronaut who kicked the space station ever so gently a few minutes ago with eyes closed. Only to open them and be disappointed by how close they still were to the station.

But still. They know that it's too late. There's no saving them. They are drifting further and further. Slowly. But it's still happening. 

In his head he gets a phone call from somebody. Somebody important in his past life. 

"HI, Georgie. How are you doing these days?"

The person happens to be coming into town. It excites him. They make plans and his life changes forever. He checks his phone for this call. Maybe they left him a text. But there is nothing. He puts on a show on 

Netflix

with one hand, the other steady on the phone. The call comes in his imagination several times a day. He sometimes thinks to himself... that's good enough. Just that imagination.

Ring ring. Ring ring.

He checks to see who it is.