I don't even know why I'm writing this. I mean, it's not like anyone can FIX it, right? It just… is. Started with the job. Got this offer, it was a BIG step up, really. Director level, all that. And the money, well, the money was significant. My wife, ex-wife now I guess, always said I chased money. She wasn't wrong, I guess. We needed it then, what with the kids and her hours and my dad… he’s, you know. Anyway. She said don’t go. Stay. But this was a chance. A REAL chance. So I took it. Moved. Alone. The kids are grown, sort of. One’s still in uni, the other just got a place with her boyfriend. So it was just me. And a whole new city. And that’s where it gets… weird. Or maybe just sad. I don’t know. This isn’t a small town. It’s a proper city. Lots of people. And I’m good at my job, you know? I can schmooze with the best of them in a professional setting. But outside of that… nada. Nothing. Zip. I tried. Seriously, I tried. Joined a cycling club. Went to some meetups. Even downloaded one of those apps, for friends, not… you know. Just friends. And it’s like everyone already has their people. Their groups. Their inner circles that are just… IMPENETRABLE. Like they’ve all been friends since kindergarten, or college, or whatever, and there’s no room for a new guy. A 53-year-old new guy who just moved across the country. And everyone’s so… busy. Or seems to be. “Oh, we’re doing family stuff this weekend.” “Got a thing with the crew.” Like, where is the crew? Can I get on the crew list? Please? The weekends are the worst. Monday through Friday, I’m good. I’m important. I run meetings, I make decisions. I have lunch with colleagues, talk shop. But then Friday hits and it’s like the city just… empties out. Everyone goes home to their families, their partners, their established lives. And I go home to my new, very expensive, very empty apartment. I mean, I don’t even… it’s not like I’m expecting a parade. I just want… a coffee, maybe. A casual, unplanned drink. Something that isn’t a forced networking event or a pity invite from a colleague who probably thinks I’m a bit desperate. My old life, even when things were… strained with my wife, there was always something. Someone. And then the calls from my sister. Every Sunday. “Dad had a fall.” Or “Dad forgot to take his meds again.” And I’m hundreds of miles away, feeling this HUGE wave of guilt. Like I left them to deal with it all. Which I did. I mean, she says it’s fine, don’t worry, but I hear it in her voice. The exhaustion. And I just sit here, alone in this quiet place, watching some stupid show on TV, thinking about what I gave up for this. For a title. For a bigger paycheck that I have no one to spend it on, no one to share it with. Es una locura, right? This whole thing. What was I thinking? I don’t know. It’s not like I regret the job itself. It’s good work. Fulfilling, in its own way. But the rest of it… it’s like I’m living in a glass box. I can see everyone, but no one can really see me. Or maybe they just don’t want to. I mean, I don't even— whatever. It just feels… flat. Everything just feels flat. And every call from home just adds another layer of… something. I don't know what it is. Just heaviness. Anyway. Probably shouldn't have typed all that out. No one cares.