F., I'm sorry I can't do dinner tonight.

I know you've just driven all the way up from Florida. It's not a short trip. I've driven some miles myself. You checked in with me yesterday and asked about dinner. I appreciate planning ahead.

I just got a voicemail from you to confirm. I feel guilty.

But more, I feel tired. My eye (singular) is super-red and probably scratched. I cannot see without my contacts and I can't see well enough with my glasses to leave the house. In addition to my (for-once) non-metaphorical blindness, I have worked all weekend, have not slept enough thanks to such things as malfunctioning washing machines, and have to go in to work tomorrow anyway. I need rest.

Then guilt kicks it up some more. You helped me move down here when I didn't have anyone else who could. You drove the truck and did all the heavy-lifting. You are going to basic training soon, shunted into the Army by unfortunate immutable circumstance. I saw you try and 'mutate' the circumstances. I hope you make it out of these next three years okay - minds and emotions included. I hope you still want to finish school and make that happen.

Though we are friends, I'm not as much your friend as I am a friend of your ex-girlfriend. I worry canceling dinner might seem like all the previous is a lie, but it's not. I am not so cowardly that I do not want to see you before you 'ship out', as it were. I am not so self-centered to think that not seeing me would be that big a deal. I am unsettled that when I flake, you will be gracious and will probably ask if there's anything you can do for me.

Know that I won't have excuses for not letter-writing. I am an awesomely reliable pen pal. There will be no need for excuses.

All the best and safe drive back to Florida, safe stint in the Army.