Meeting up with an old friend, a friend from the highschool before the highschool, generally brings forth a two hour conversation in which we assassinate the character of almost every person we used to circulate amongst at school, interspaced with a fair measure of self assessment.
This self assessment has been the same for both of us, every time we have spoken, for the last two years - we are bored. During this time I have left one relationship, left one job, started another; my life doesn't measure up to the same stable boyfriend and same job she has held for the past two years (and well before then) yet I'm as stale as she is.
While we talk, my mind flickers back through the potholes of my past, and most vividly, the sister she has, whom I loved like any boy would love the last hand that grabbed him before he tumbled into the abyss. I think of my friend as a 15 year old and myself as a 16 year old. I remember a smile, orange triangles, and a sunny August day in a fuelled country town.
I consider the way in which I viewed myself as a potential adult when I was in my teens, what I expected I would be doing, where I expected I would be. There were no plans then, nothing; I have no memory of what I thought I would be doing. There are no plans now. My life is now a 12 month deadline, beyond which I have no idea where I will be and what I will be doing. A deadline flavoured with the sinking feeling that I may still be at university in some capacity beyond the end of next year.
Where we talked two years ago almost exclusively about the characters of our past, and in some cases, her present - now we deal more often in taking stock of our lives now, and where we are
going. My friends have travelled, some have moved out. I'm treading water in this set of middle grounds - I can travel, but I don't fancy paying for it. I can move out, but I don't like paying rent. I can leave university, but I don't want to work fulltime. I want a pile of debt, but can't have it while I don't work fulltime.
We collect our thoughts across a half hour of sighs and raised eyebrows about the self imposed inescapability of our situations. I realise that despite my protests, I'm addicted to being boring, and nothing will change. It is an addiction with the most boring of side effects.
Never really tied down, but never really free.