EPT![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/x4AwHvw.png)
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/YOtZOJy.png)
I am fully willing and able to recognize that acknowledging this is making a mountain out of a molehill, and to a certain extent it even implies closure. I'll save you the trip to a former blog and summarize in that in an annual, holiday dinner I was made privy to the fact my then best friend and ex had been seeing each other for some time. While that, at the time, put me in the untenable position of having to nod, smile, and make nice at the dinner table the most notable memory from that evening was the wince that complimented what I hoped was a charitable smile as I reached for my phone to delete contact information.
I remember fighting the temptation to leave the restaurant, but managed to reel myself into some modicum of composure and make it through the meal. Only to say thanks for the time and head to my computer only to finish a bottle of liquor, write another blog, and if memory serves call into work sick the next morning as what I'll term as a mental health day.
Since that day I've reached out only once, in what in retrospect was an exceedingly convoluted and self-serving email to both parties. Where before I had refused to have anything to do with the pair of them, citing my inability to not shit all over the relationship, I had attempted to make good on certain things which I was no doubt at fault for. This was greeted by a clinical email from my ex, which I read, drunkenly, and deleted for the sake of saving sober face. The details of that email remain hazy, but I am content to say that what I remember of it was not inviting.
What I am also willing to admit, is that I am the party most living in a fantasy land of the three, possibly four, were you to count my own gf of four years, in this little, petty melodrama. All concerned parties are at least twenty-five and none should be concerned with trifles as minuscule as this, but a long time best friend starting to date a girl I dated for three years still rubs me the wrong way.
As I said this also brings an odd sense of closure to things. The older I get, and the more I watch people age (myself included), the less I really know what to do with myself. I would be lying if I said I still don't fear, and fear is at least a semi-appropriate word anxious also applies, walking out of my building and running into one of the two of them. This is more symptomatic of my general anxiety than anything else. I know that were I faced with the situation I would walk blocks out of my way to avoid unnecessary social contact.
For all intents and purposes I've moved on. I've a girl who loves me for reasons I'll never be quite sure of and who puts up with my own brand of bullshit and we are carving our own little niche despite the hand that was dealt to us post graduation. Yet part of me, a part I know is sick in some way, shape, or form is sick still is content punish myself with incessant revisions of memories long since past and presently blown well out of proportion.
So for tonight, I lament the loss of one friend and acknowledge a relationship as past as I try to digest my own bullshit. At the same time, I am thankful that things were wrapped up as summarily as possible in this digital age. So for now, I'll just smile.
