Diary: Day 3: 4/22/19

Michael left for China last Thursday, I've had a variety of thoughts about it both before and after. On one hand, I was incredibly excited for him-- he has been waiting for a career opportunity like this for years, and it will be the first time he has ever been out of the country besides a family trip to the Bahamas when he was a kid. It's a huge deal for him as far as pursuing his dreams and escaping the drudgery of New Orleans. I was glad for myself, too, because Michael and I hang out so often that it can be difficult for me to find any time to get work done. I've wanted to prioritize my writing and beat-making, but every day before I even got off work he would be texting me and making plans-- basketball, putt putt, dinner, etc-- and when I would decline I could tell it upset him and I'd feel bad for saying no, and that feeling would ensure I'd say yes the next time, so that even in the free time I would know that the free time was limited, that the next day might not offer any. But I do enjoy his company all the same. He's one of my best friends.

In spite of being excited for him, I've also been very jealous. A year ago this week, I was leaving New orleans for Buenos Aires. Now I'm still doing the exact same job I was doing when I left the last time, while Michael is the one getting to venture out into the world. And not only is he getting out there-- he's getting paid to do it, something like $4000 a month, which is more than I make working in New Orleans. All his rent and most of his food is already paid for. Financially speaking, he could stay out there for as long as he wants, meanwhile it's dawning on me that it might not be financially feasible for me to leave again. If I want to have any money when i get back, I'll need to either shorten the trip or wait longer to embark on it, and neither option sounds appealing. Even if I had enough money right now, I still wouldn't have any idea what to do with myself upon getting home. Back to the car dealership? There's only so many times I can just quit and then come crawling back.

We spent Michael's last few days in town doing all the same things we would usually do-- just doing them more often. We played putt putt golf three times in under a week, twice on that last wednesday. Mike talked me into smoking weed with him three days in a row, each time coercing me into taking more hits than the time before, basically training me to get high how I used to, perhaps feeling a certain pressure to "cure me" of my weed related anxiety in his last few opportunities to do so. Even as we enjoyed these last few outings and his nervous excitement built and built, I couldn't shake the feeling that was to some extent like the "really good last day" that one gives to a terminally ill dog. All the treats you want, some park time, your favorite chew toy, because you'll never have another chance to enjoy these things again. It felt like that. I have no reason to believe that either of us is racing toward death, but all things in life are notoriously uncertain, and physical death isn't the only thing that can relegate aspects of our life to the irretrievable past.

If I were to never see Michael in person again, I would be glad we spent his last few days in town in the way that we did, but it would be devastating to think of the new meaning in all those insignificant moments, the preciousness of a trip to the putt putt course or a blunt shared among friends.