This Is Fine. We're Fine. This Is Totally Fine.
Hey, guys. How’s it going? Everything good? No reason to have a major TV-related freak out recently, right? See, because we’re not going to worry about last night’s episode of You’re The Worst. Not yet, at least. Not yet.
I say this because, as of today, we’ve got only six episodes left to wrap up Jimmy and Gretchen’s epic love affair, and last night closed with Gretchen swallowing a handful of Edgar’s PTSD meds. Not. That. Great. But we’re not going to freak out about it because:
1) We know that Gretchen survives based on the flash forwards (technically assumed flashforward since we have no idea when the pool scene takes place. We know that Jimmy’s scenes have been in the future because of the condition of the car he gifted Gretchen, but have no proof yet of when Gretchen’s scene takes place (which doesn’t actually relieve my anxiety about her future, so let’s just say she’s still kicking)).
2) I have learned to trust Stephen Falk implicitly. And I understand that while he might hurt me, he will never let me down.
And all that I say to acknowledge, we’re still not in a super great place. To wit, Jimmy got a blowjob from the florist for their wedding, Gretchen refused to talk about it, Gretchen and Jimmy made couple friends, Jimmy then blew the male couple friend in order to prove his dedication to Gretchen, which won her back. Until she had a complete freak out about the intimacy and affection of her new friendship and blew it up by claiming Jimmy tricked Quinn into receiving a blowjob by saying it was for Gretchen when it wasn’t. Then Jimmy and Gretchen boned because why not. All of which led to Gretchen sneaking out of bed (not unreminiscent of season two when she would sneak out to go cry in her car and play Snake on her phone, leading to a minor panic attack on some viewer’s parts) in order to swallow said PTSD medication by the wee fistful.
This is fine.
Sidenote: Is Edgar still on that many meds? Wasn’t the weed taking care of most, if not all, of the symptoms? And since cannabis (marijuana is racist, y’all) is legal in California now and Edgar has a job, shouldn’t he be able to partake in his most reliable treatment without worrying about the VA and federal ramifications? Maybe a little more explanation of that, and a little less Paul F. Tompkins’ soup.
Now, if I were a lesser person, I might point out that, while Gretchen’s freak out at their couple friend wasn’t great, it was maybe, slightly better than freaking out at Jimmy and pushing him away. Although “better” might not be the right word because Jimmy is terrible for Gretchen. “Less immediately detrimental to Gretchen’s physical well-being” is more apt wording considering Lindsay no longer has a couch for Gretchen to live on for three months. At the least, it’s showing improvement that when the inevitable freak out came, Gretchen pushed away the almost-strangers rather than the more intimate partner she’s spent years forming a relationship with. That is until the apparent suicide attempt. Which might not even be a suicide attempt. We don’t know for sure.
Also, can we at least address the fact that telling someone you’ve known for a week that you only make “friends for life” and that you don’t let people go is maybe coming on a little strong? I’m not saying Gretchen was right to freak out, but she wasn’t wrong in feeling a little suffocated, right? First, you say they’re never getting rid of you, and then your husband sticks his D down her fiancé’s T? Weird. Who’s really the weird one here? Right? If you think about it?
All this to say, THERE IS NO NEED TO PANIC. WE CAN RECOVER FROM THIS. WE DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS IS YET. MAYBE THE “HE” THAT GRETCHEN DOESN’T MIND HERE IS SAM. MAYBE SAM GOT A NEW PUBLICIST. DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? NO, YOU JUST HAD TO JUMP TO THE WORST POSSIBLE CONCLUSION WITHOUT ANY REASON. BUT MAYBE SHE JUST MEANS THAT SHE WON OVER SAM BECAUSE HIS SOLO ALBUM FLOPPED. WE. DON’T. KNOW. ANYTHING. YET.
The series is definitely ending at a wedding, though. I’m calling that now.
Header Image Source: FXX