I admit I’m too keen on seeing symbolic coincidences. Sometimes this reaches the point where it’s debatable whether there’s anything symbolically coinciding at all.
On Thursday, Sandy turned 35. Sandy was a workmate of mine back in 2000-2003, and my seventh post-army love. It was one of those loves which can ultimately bring a body down a lot. At the end of the day I had to quit the job and go through an approximately six-month booze-up to get over it. (Another embarrasing symbol: I began my next job which lasted for some time on the very date when, three years earlier, I had seen him for the first time.) I bear him no grudge. For all his latent egocentrism, he often helped me a lot when his and my aims pointed at the same direction, and I had some great times with him. It surprised me now to realise he was that much younger. (Eight years – the number again.) But I no longer love him. As a matter of fact, I’m gradually fancying him less and less.
On Thursday (here’s the symbolic coincidence – if there is one), I received a reply for my Sunday’s email to Lùc – the first I’ve heard from him since the end of last November. Needless to say, this made my day. Apart from the therapists and a couple of guys in this town he’s one of the two people I met in the rehab that I’m still in contact with – that is to say, otherwise than when revisiting the rehab. I never loved him (though I once was on the verge of it and always have fancied him), but he’s one of the closest friends I’ve had during this millenium so far. People come and people go, friends come and friends go, but there’s always the additional fear in these relationships that your friend might have relapsed. Which with alkies can eventually mean the skid row and with junkies the fatal overdose. So I was mightily relieved to find out there are simply currently too many interesting real-life things happening to him to let him spend much time online. But the line wasn’t broken. This relationship lasts. Which is great.