Two years.
That’s how long since a man I used to call my friend ghosted me. At first I was upset. I thought I had done something wrong. I examined my behaviour for months and months, always coming back to the inescapable fact that a person who used to contact me to catch up had ceased doing so.
For no reason I could see.
Well, not entirely. Two years ago I was full of enthusiasm for my art career. After 50 years doing other things I was finally getting back to what I had originally, in my youth, wanted to do. Make art.
My friend and I went to a movie. I got a call on my phone and had to leave the theatre and it was something I couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t put this person off. It’s like that sometimes.
When I had finished my call, not wanting to disturb other patrons, I left the theatre. I had to pick up some prints from my print shop not far from the cinema anyway. And the movie was dull.
So it’s been two years.
I don’t want you to feel sorry for someone as inconsequential as me, that’s by no means my aim, but it’s like that Murakami novel I couldn’t finish, about a railway station designer called Tsukuru Tazaki. I was morose and confused for a long time, but then I decided to do something about it.
I am no longer hurt by the hurt done to me. I have known this man since about 1985, so we go way back. I don’t think missing a stupid Viking movie is enough to destroy a friendship of that long standing. So what I did was — this guy is a Leftie, a Labor supporter — I took a stand.
Anything he would like and support I decided to condemn.
The Voice Referendum for example. It failed and I celebrated inwardly. I would never admit to my friends that I was glad it had not got up, doing so in this country among my people would be like admitting you steal money from grandmothers, or worse. (There are worse things than stealing from grandmothers, sadly.)
I could go on. I look forward to the election at the federal lever next year. I will not be voting for Anthony Albanese’s political party. Revenge is sweet.
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