Written last Friday night:

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By most accounts, today was a good day.

I ended the week strong at work. I had dinner and drinks with some good friends. There was a quick internet chat with a friend where I got some things off my chest. I witnessed an improbable comeback at a high school football game.

I came home and watched a classic Clint Eastwood movie with the roommate, who was excited about calling a girl, and that things were looking up for him. Then a Frank Sinatra WWII movie came on, so I'm hooked. Roommate #2 comes home, and we catch up a little bit.

It was, indeed, a good day. Much better than I deserve.

Now I'm lying in bed in a dark room, hearing the rain fall and trickle its way down the gutters. The clock is ticking just audibly enough to remind me that I'm not sleeping. I start replaying the day in my mind, which doesn't exactly help The Sandman do his job, thankyouverymuch.

It hits me: The people in my life... today they were like a revolving cast of characters. Short stories; quick hits. Or maybe like a 30 minute sit-coms where I fast forward through the commercials. And if I hurry, I can watch another one before bedtime.

As fulfilling as my friendships are (and, seriously, you wish you had friends as awesome as mine), there's still something missing. And to me, it's obvious.