I've been examining my social interactions, specifically those classified as "friendships" within my professional sphere. There's a discernible pattern, almost a statistical anomaly, in the timing of their contact. It consistently occurs when they require assistance with a client presentation – particularly those involving complex data visualization or persuasive messaging – or when rumors of impending organizational restructuring intensify. Every single time, every day, it's either "Can you look at my deck?" or "What have you heard about the layoffs?" It's become a predictable variable in my weekly schedule, almost a biological rhythm of their need states. Initially, I rationalized it as mutual reliance, an organic byproduct of a high-pressure environment. We're all in this, right? The commute into the city, the early mornings, the suburban pressure to maintain the appearance of upward mobility – we’re a cohort. I’d see them at the office, we’d discuss our nascent children, the absurd price of daycare, the impending doom of property taxes. We'd exchange pleasantries, discuss weekend plans that never quite materialized into actual meetups. I considered these exchanges sufficient, a functional approximation of camaraderie. But the asymmetry of the contact has become pronounced. My outreach – a casual text about a new restaurant, an article I found interesting – often receives a delayed, perfunctory response, if any. Their outreach is always urgent, always transactional. It’s like a conditional stimulus, and I am the reliable response. I find myself dissecting these interactions, almost clinically. There's a particular sensation that accompanies these realizations – a sort of hollow resonance in the chest, not exactly pain, but a distinct absence of something. I'm not entirely certain what that something is. Is it disappointment? A form of social anhedonia? I assist them, of course. I provide the information, I refine the presentations. I maintain the outward appearance of an engaged colleague, a helpful friend. But the internal landscape has shifted. I observe myself going through the motions, providing the expected input, while simultaneously experiencing this detachment. It's like watching a data stream, analyzing the inputs and outputs, and realizing the system is operating entirely as designed, but the core objective – whatever that might have been – is fundamentally misaligned. And I don’t know what to do with that data.