I just spent an hour with a co-worker at the bar. He's young and a prior non-drinker, so it only took his one beer to my one beer and two white russians to loosen things up and for him to tell me that he isn't in love with his girlfriend. And, though she wants to marry him, he doesn't think that he'd be happy. Sure, he could have trips, televisions, large fish tanks all paid for by her wealthy mother. He'd be "comfortable," he said. I talked mainly about my change of psychologists and my visit to the local clinic and my new medication. He was encouraging: "Man, I hope it works. I want it to do you some good." I thought, "It's taken us a month to get past the workplace bullshit." And after all, he's still a doofus, prone to using the word "retarded" and snickering about bathroom humor and I'm still grouchy and stand-offish, but sitting there amongst the most depressing set of people - we were easily the youngest by at least 10 years - I was glad to have invited him out.