I am capable of incredible acts of cowardice.
Journal
Wreckage
Fuck, I’ve been a wreck the last few days. Emotionally drained, tired and miserable. Yesterday I couldn’t go to BJJ because of a pulled muscle in my shoulder that hasn’t been healing well, so I was convinced to go running — something I didn’t really wanted to do but something I thought might get the endorphins flowing and which might make me forget my misery for a while. After about 8 or 9 kilometres I certainly forgot about my emotional misery because I started worrying about my physical misery (somewhere, some Maslovian is grinning at this as they’re hugging their hierarchy of needs poster), but I didn’t feel any better. Went to bed early, slept well and woke up a little calmer, but I can feel it slipping away. Bleh.
Archer Vice
God, the latest season of Archer (or Archer Vice as this season has been dubbed) is fantastic! In the last episode, Archer, Cyrill and Ray are in Bolivia trying to find La Madrina, the godmother of the Cali Cartel in order to sell their “shit-tonne” of cocaine before Pam uses it all (and turns into a slender woman with massive breasts.)
Here Archer befriends a bunch of locals in his attempt to make contact with El Madrina. It looks to be somewhat successful as they attract the necessary attention. The greatest exchange of the episode:
Cyrill: I have a question; since we’re now essentially captives of the Cali cartel and being dragged off to god knows what terrible fate, WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SMILING!?
Archer: a) We’re not their captives, we’re about to be their business partners, b) I bet there’s a pretty descent chance La Madrina owns a tiger, and c) guapo means handsome.
Of the inevitable sex scene between Archer and La Madrina, we only see the conclusion:
I can’t wait for next week’s episode. :)
Closure
Some things are hard not to take personally. A friend cutting off all contact mid-WhatsApp conversation and not bothering to resume contact for over a year (one year, five months, one week, six days, nineteen hours, fourty minutes and thirty-four seconds to be obsessively precise), I find very hard not to take personally. At this point, I should really stop calling her a friend, but without know why it is that she broke off all communication, it seems impossible for me to call her “a person that I used to know.”
To be fair, I shouldn’t be too surprised. I met her a little after she moved to the Netherlands, over a decade ago, and I was a bit surprised at how easily she broke off contact with her friends from back home. She’s moved again, and I guess now I’m the friend she no longer contacts now that she’s abroad.
I’ve resisted the urge to contact her since she stopped talking to me (made easier by no longer being on Facebook) because it’s clear she has no interest in keeping in touch. I’ve gone through all the stages of grief and loss; denial, anger, blah blah, acceptance. Strangely enough, these stages seem oddly cyclical, where I inevitably end up at stage one again. Admittedly, I’m getting very efficient and nowadays I get to acceptance in a matter of minutes. I linger at acceptance for a couple of weeks and start the cycle all over again.
The reason why I don’t just stick to acceptance is because I have no fucking clue why she stopped talking to me. While I can come up with two or three dozen things I have done to deserve it, and perhaps half a dozen other possible reasons, I don’t really know why. There’s no closure. I’ve never actually experienced that lack of closure before, so that’s something I’ve learnt from all of this.
See, every cloud has a silver lining; one of my closest and dearest friends has abandoned all desire of maintaining a relationship with me, but at least now I know what all those dramatic romance films keep harping on about.