A freshly-showered friend in your car smells like your ex. The Tuesday night movie is the same one you went to see, by yourself, at the theatre six years ago on a night you knew your boyfriend was cheating on you. You are so miserable at your job that it permeates all aspects of your life. You know that if you don't do something about it, not only will you still be there in 10 years, you'll also be 46, single, and bitter beyond belief (even more so than now).
You keep a car that's putting you in debt just so that you have a way to escape a city you don't like living in. It's a city that has kicked your ass, but it has the largest population of gay men in your homo-marriage-legal country. Critical mass. 'Cause where else is a gay guy gonna meet another gay guy? The country? Maybe in a pr0n video.
On the weekends you actually do stay in the city, you don't go out. You've even given up on the Internet. Five years of serious trolling, and all you have to show for it are stories that your friends bring up at parties to embarrass you.
Sometimes you think that you're a chameleon, because your sense of self is just bled in from what's around you. How can you know what you want to do with your life when you don't know who you are? You watch House and Grey's Anatomy and you wish you were a doctor. You watch the schmaltzy music video for Grey's Anatomy on the website, and you wish you were the singer. As tears stream down your face, 'cause you're such a maudlin wuss.