His life doesn't really have anything too-obviously wrong with it. He's happy enough, he thinks. Sure he doesn't really- have any close friends. But- well, he's tried that. People are mostly just sort of- boring. And mean. And- the people who aren't, those strangers on the internet whose writing he loves- those he hasn't quite gathered the courage to interact with. To introduce himself to.

Maybe someday, he tells himself. It would be nice, not to be so alone. But he's just fine this way.

Just fine. It doesn't hurt much. Not at all, most days. And his reluctance to reach out definitely isn't just that he's shy.

He's worried about the future. Not just for himself, but for his planet. He tries not to spend all his time dwelling on it, but also not to just look the other way. Not to let his mind just slide off of it. He's come to the conclusion he can't really help, much. He tried. Gathered himself together and went off to study the right things. It didn't work out. He could pull himself together enough to learn, when it was all laid out in front of him in steps designed to be comprehensible. Enough to win a few awards, even. But barely. And not, it turned out, enough for the things he'd need to do to actually help.

So now he's just a bystander. One a bit more well-informed than most, but that's all.

He feels a little bit like there are a few pieces of him missing, and isn't quite sure how to recover them.

He'll start looking for work in the fall, after some time off. He has enough money saved up for that, from his summer research job. The one that taught him that there was a real difference between the functionality-levels required for being able to learn well-trod material and those required for advancing mankind's state of the art.

But he's okay.