What a weird, shitty week last week.

On Thursday I was notified that a longtime friend and scientific collaborator finally died after spending months in the hospital. Poor bastard had an endoscopy back in February to check for pancreatic cancer. The good news is that he was cancer-free. The bad news was that they may have nicked a duct, because he ended up with pancreatitis...which led to sepsis...which led to a bowel obstruction...which led to a feeding tube, fluid on the lungs, etc, etc. Last Sunday he decided that enough was enough and chose hospice over another round of surgeries. Nothing is guaranteed when it involves even a minor procedure. Dude was 58, and just an all around good scientist, husband, father, and grandfather.

Fast forward a day. Was supposed to get drinks with an old friend who I get together with once every month or two. She sent me an email Friday morning that simply said "News" in the subject line and read something like, "Can't make it today. What's your phone number?" So you may think that someone you've been close friends with for over 15 years would have your phone number, but you would be wrong if that person had a psychotic, drug-addled, alcoholic, abusive, deadbeat, low-life husband. Anyway this dude had never met me and nonetheless hated my guts, because he saw some texts between me and his wife years ago that said salacious things like, "You have any lunch plans tomorrow?" I'm intentionally using past tense in the previous sentence, because she called me after I replied to her email to tell me he died...also on Thursday...also at aged 58 (she is 47 and a good cautionary tale about why you don't get together long-term with the handsome older dude who has a cool van when you're 19--hit it and quit it, folks). They were going through a divorce, which had been driving him to ever more erratic behavior and ever more erratic drug use. So while I don't know how he died, I am 99% sure it was fentanyl-related.

It's funny because the last time I saw her I suggested to her that instead of the half million dollars it was going to take to get him to fuck off, maybe she just figures out how to get ahold of his dealer and spots him a $10k credit or something. Quick, painless, and orders of magnitude cheaper. We both laughed about it, but I don't think either of us thought that was a viable option. It's weird, because even though it came to pass, I don't feel bad. I feel only joy for her. Sure her kids will have some rough emotions, but they'll get it in time. I've never personally had the feeling of elation when hearing of the premature death of another human. Indifference, maybe, but not happiness. It makes you feel a little like a monster, but there's absolutely no question that this is a good outcome for all parties. (As an aside, and just to prove I'm not crazy, I called a mutual friend to tell her the news, and she said she hadn't been this happy about a death since Bin Laden--we're talking about a guy who threatened to kill my good friend on multiple occasions, so even filing for divorce was an act of courage.)

Just crazy coincidences. Two guys the same age meeting untimely ends, one a great guy with bad luck, and the other a bottom-feeder with fantastic luck to have lived as long and as well as he had. Really put me in a bad mood altogether over the weekend. Thanks for listening. I'll stop now.