http://www.zefrank.com/break_up/
very funny, & sadly appropriate
I've read three books a day for the past three days and I've still got time to stay up late at night and pace the floors.
It's even so hot here, that I don't want to go to the beach - bleurgh!
Friday, December 30, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
Parallel Universes
I had two strange, parallel moments this Christmas.
Watching slides of all things (yes, you can put them on DVD, but it's still a bloody cliched slideshow and it doesn't make it any cooler) I saw my brother stand behind my sister-in-law and put a hand on her shoulder, ask her quietly, in her ear, if she'd like to sit down.
She reached up and touched his fingers and looked around at him and smiled, and there was that 'lightning bolt' between them.
Behind them, was a photo, of The Man and me at their wedding, looking that same way at each other over our son's head.
In all this mess, I've never felt sadder in my life.
Watching slides of all things (yes, you can put them on DVD, but it's still a bloody cliched slideshow and it doesn't make it any cooler) I saw my brother stand behind my sister-in-law and put a hand on her shoulder, ask her quietly, in her ear, if she'd like to sit down.
She reached up and touched his fingers and looked around at him and smiled, and there was that 'lightning bolt' between them.
Behind them, was a photo, of The Man and me at their wedding, looking that same way at each other over our son's head.
In all this mess, I've never felt sadder in my life.
Christmas
What a wonderful day, what thoughtful gifts, what great company...what a relief, that's it's all over now!
Time for some trash TV and roast leftovers!
Merry Christmas and I'm looking forward to a NEW YEAR!
God knows, it's got to be better than the last one.
And, PS, speaking of God.
If anyone out there is on good terms with him.
It would be handy for me if you suggested that I really want the job I interviewed for last week.
In return, I promise on my children's lives that I will not dilute the general Catholicism of my potential employers and their school - with my own, personal brand of rabid atheism - if s/he will only give me the job and let me past the gate without causing me to froth and tremble when my foot makes contact with consecrated ground.
Do you know what, I have never been interviewed by so many people in leggings and polo shirts in my life?
Tough crowd...and the first job in eight years where I haven't walked in and told someone else why they need to make a job for me, set my own hours, rates and had them hire me on the spot.
Do you know what's worse.
The week before, I had to spend a day in Centrelink.
I'd already been told over the phone several times that they would not help me until I was actually unemployed, if I sent anything off they'd just stamp it, fail it and send it back, and then they told me that I should avoid any office except the one that would be my long-term office - which was conveniently 600km from where I actually was, where I was going to that week, and where I was spending my Christmas holidays...but I should get there as soon as I could.
In five hours I talked to SIX different social workers, form-filler-outerers and queue-controllers, produced the four forms I'd filled out ahead of time (to, and you can insert ironic laughter here, SAVE TIME) only to discover that last week they changed to a paper-free format and I had to answer the questions all over again so they could be typed straight into the system.
While I waited I sat next to a woman who, I thought, had burped - turned to look at her and she lifted her cheek off the seat to let one rip.
I had to come up with several WITNESSES to the why, when and where of my husband and my break-up and then, to top it off, I had to wait two hours to get the approvals...and conveniently ran into my sister-in-law (she of the innocent face and dark heart, not to mention the black hole vagina) who, stupidly, I agreed to have lunch with.
Despite turning her down three times, I ended up saying 'oh, sure' because she pulled the - 'we can still be friends, you're still family' line on me.
I know, stupid, stupid, stupid...I know better. A half hour after her dropping me back at Centrelink I had The Man screaming at me about how his sister was at his mother's and everyone was crying and...think EastEnders meets Passions and you'd be pretty close.
I got the...'how bitter she is, going on about how he'll have a new house and she'll have shitbox.' Oh, hold on! That's true, and I'm fine with it. It's my choice to keep The Farm.
And then there's the...' she didn't want to even have lunch with me.' I wonder why?
And the...' she won't even come pick up the kids' presents.' So The Man can have his own celebrations with The Kids next week for Fuck's Sake.
Or the...'she says he's going to kill himself." No, I said he's going to get himself killed. Anyone feeling sorry for themselves in a car with a bottle of Bundy runs that risk. Especially ones who spend a little bit too much time with other men's wives.
But you know what...I am proud of myself. (Not for that last comment...I must admit. I'm throwing out a few low blows of my own lately it seems.)
Not for getting sucked into the flurry of 'he said, she said & I always said' that the sister-in-law lives her life in - that was my own fault, I knew my armour was down that day and I know my own faults - but because I didn't try and explain to The Man.
No one should ever have to pick their family over their ex-partner and exes should never expect anything different - and frankly, I think I got the better deal out of the lot of us.
Well, I just breathed, told him to fuck off or talk to the CentreLink social worker himself (might have saved me answering a few questions and got my payments speeded up) and decided that, yes, I'm better off where I am...a long way away from all that drama.
I don't know when to shut my mouth. I always expect the best of people...despite all the contradictory evidence and, frankly, I don't want to be a pessimist and untrusting sadsack for the rest of my life.
I'm a sucker for drama, and a shocking gossip - and I need to surround myself with people who don't feed my weaknesses because it's not in my or my children's best interests.
And anyway, that's what blogs are for.
I tell you what, though...CentreLink is a sharp learning curve.
I think I'll do all the rest of my dealings with them over the phone - the air (and the staff) in there is just too thick.
Time for some trash TV and roast leftovers!
Merry Christmas and I'm looking forward to a NEW YEAR!
God knows, it's got to be better than the last one.
And, PS, speaking of God.
If anyone out there is on good terms with him.
It would be handy for me if you suggested that I really want the job I interviewed for last week.
In return, I promise on my children's lives that I will not dilute the general Catholicism of my potential employers and their school - with my own, personal brand of rabid atheism - if s/he will only give me the job and let me past the gate without causing me to froth and tremble when my foot makes contact with consecrated ground.
Do you know what, I have never been interviewed by so many people in leggings and polo shirts in my life?
Tough crowd...and the first job in eight years where I haven't walked in and told someone else why they need to make a job for me, set my own hours, rates and had them hire me on the spot.
Do you know what's worse.
The week before, I had to spend a day in Centrelink.
I'd already been told over the phone several times that they would not help me until I was actually unemployed, if I sent anything off they'd just stamp it, fail it and send it back, and then they told me that I should avoid any office except the one that would be my long-term office - which was conveniently 600km from where I actually was, where I was going to that week, and where I was spending my Christmas holidays...but I should get there as soon as I could.
In five hours I talked to SIX different social workers, form-filler-outerers and queue-controllers, produced the four forms I'd filled out ahead of time (to, and you can insert ironic laughter here, SAVE TIME) only to discover that last week they changed to a paper-free format and I had to answer the questions all over again so they could be typed straight into the system.
While I waited I sat next to a woman who, I thought, had burped - turned to look at her and she lifted her cheek off the seat to let one rip.
I had to come up with several WITNESSES to the why, when and where of my husband and my break-up and then, to top it off, I had to wait two hours to get the approvals...and conveniently ran into my sister-in-law (she of the innocent face and dark heart, not to mention the black hole vagina) who, stupidly, I agreed to have lunch with.
Despite turning her down three times, I ended up saying 'oh, sure' because she pulled the - 'we can still be friends, you're still family' line on me.
I know, stupid, stupid, stupid...I know better. A half hour after her dropping me back at Centrelink I had The Man screaming at me about how his sister was at his mother's and everyone was crying and...think EastEnders meets Passions and you'd be pretty close.
I got the...'how bitter she is, going on about how he'll have a new house and she'll have shitbox.' Oh, hold on! That's true, and I'm fine with it. It's my choice to keep The Farm.
And then there's the...' she didn't want to even have lunch with me.' I wonder why?
And the...' she won't even come pick up the kids' presents.' So The Man can have his own celebrations with The Kids next week for Fuck's Sake.
Or the...'she says he's going to kill himself." No, I said he's going to get himself killed. Anyone feeling sorry for themselves in a car with a bottle of Bundy runs that risk. Especially ones who spend a little bit too much time with other men's wives.
But you know what...I am proud of myself. (Not for that last comment...I must admit. I'm throwing out a few low blows of my own lately it seems.)
Not for getting sucked into the flurry of 'he said, she said & I always said' that the sister-in-law lives her life in - that was my own fault, I knew my armour was down that day and I know my own faults - but because I didn't try and explain to The Man.
No one should ever have to pick their family over their ex-partner and exes should never expect anything different - and frankly, I think I got the better deal out of the lot of us.
Well, I just breathed, told him to fuck off or talk to the CentreLink social worker himself (might have saved me answering a few questions and got my payments speeded up) and decided that, yes, I'm better off where I am...a long way away from all that drama.
I don't know when to shut my mouth. I always expect the best of people...despite all the contradictory evidence and, frankly, I don't want to be a pessimist and untrusting sadsack for the rest of my life.
I'm a sucker for drama, and a shocking gossip - and I need to surround myself with people who don't feed my weaknesses because it's not in my or my children's best interests.
And anyway, that's what blogs are for.
I tell you what, though...CentreLink is a sharp learning curve.
I think I'll do all the rest of my dealings with them over the phone - the air (and the staff) in there is just too thick.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
With a little help from my friends
Wow - talk about taking your mind off your own troubles.
What my friends - let's call him Seamus and her Trixie (she'd hate that) - are going through sure makes me feel a little less self-obsessed with my own paltry, every-day everybody-does-it-these-days divorce.
And 'Trixie', if your OT logs you on - say hello back!
Trixie had a stroke at 35 and is learning how to wipe her own bum right now,she can't hold her two-year-old daughter on her own lap and it's killing her that they've shaved part of her hair.
She was a compulsive clapper when she was happy and now it's all very zen - 'what's the sound of one hand clapping?'
But, no matter how hard it is going to be for her, I felt like the sun had come up all over again when she recognised me and we could laugh together.
She's still my 'Trixie' - LOL, I'm going to get joy out of that for DAYS, being able to call her that and she can't reach far enough to slap me for it.
So I've hooked up a volunteer nail beautician to give her nails the once-over - the volunteer used to be in the spinal unit herself.
I clipped her toenails and her sister-in-law has done her eyebrows and she's in a fantastic rehab centre where they're going to help her relearn the skills she needs to come home and go back to work even.
No more hospital gowns - we brought in all her own clothes and shoes and skin products, so the place can really be home for a while.
If they knew how hard she works on her appearance when she's well, they'd have had a beautician waiting for her at the door when she booked in.
But it felt good to be right, when she said 'that's half the problem of being here, feeling shit because you look shit'.
Seamus and I sat outside of Bunnings in the carpark repotting herbs and lavender, a 'goddess' lily (the tattoo she and Seamus got together says goddess and her daughter's name is Lily) and a pink-flowered Christmas Cactus to make the room smell less like a h0spital (and look a lot more like a bloody tropical holiday getaway).
She's found some great nurses who she can tease and who are impervious to her temper - if only they knew that temper of hers had nothing to do with the brain injury.
And, while she was busy on her new OT regime or sleeping off the exhaustion of her speech therapy, Seamus and I had a captive audience to bounce plans off of...we went swimming, played poker all night and took the kids out for junkfood and playgrounds.
They say misery loves company, but I think we both had a lot of fun talking about the great stuff ahead instead of the shit behind us both. It was a moment out of time and it gave us both space to breathe.
It wasn't sympathy or pity, it was just good company.
Of course, on the downside, it's hard being single and hanging around with a gorgeous, six-foot-six Dad with kids, in a car full of babyseats - definitely reduces my chances of picking up single men at the beach. LOL.
Lovely though, to be somewhere safe and friendly where 'real life' has also been suspended for a little while, to be able to talk and not feel guilty that you're sucking up someone else's life - that's the beauty of the hour and a half drive between their home and Trixie's hospital.
And I got to see him step up and take on a new future, with all the changes he's going to have to make in their home and their lives.
Why are some of us only at our best when we're facing insurmountable odds?
Whatever it was, these last few days, it saved my life I think.
That my first days away from my old home and my old life weren't spent crying over 'woulda, shoulda, couldabeens'...I will always be thankful for that time to see 'Trixie' & 'Seamus' both on the road to recovery, and to point myself in the same direction.
What my friends - let's call him Seamus and her Trixie (she'd hate that) - are going through sure makes me feel a little less self-obsessed with my own paltry, every-day everybody-does-it-these-days divorce.
And 'Trixie', if your OT logs you on - say hello back!
Trixie had a stroke at 35 and is learning how to wipe her own bum right now,she can't hold her two-year-old daughter on her own lap and it's killing her that they've shaved part of her hair.
She was a compulsive clapper when she was happy and now it's all very zen - 'what's the sound of one hand clapping?'
But, no matter how hard it is going to be for her, I felt like the sun had come up all over again when she recognised me and we could laugh together.
She's still my 'Trixie' - LOL, I'm going to get joy out of that for DAYS, being able to call her that and she can't reach far enough to slap me for it.
So I've hooked up a volunteer nail beautician to give her nails the once-over - the volunteer used to be in the spinal unit herself.
I clipped her toenails and her sister-in-law has done her eyebrows and she's in a fantastic rehab centre where they're going to help her relearn the skills she needs to come home and go back to work even.
No more hospital gowns - we brought in all her own clothes and shoes and skin products, so the place can really be home for a while.
If they knew how hard she works on her appearance when she's well, they'd have had a beautician waiting for her at the door when she booked in.
But it felt good to be right, when she said 'that's half the problem of being here, feeling shit because you look shit'.
Seamus and I sat outside of Bunnings in the carpark repotting herbs and lavender, a 'goddess' lily (the tattoo she and Seamus got together says goddess and her daughter's name is Lily) and a pink-flowered Christmas Cactus to make the room smell less like a h0spital (and look a lot more like a bloody tropical holiday getaway).
She's found some great nurses who she can tease and who are impervious to her temper - if only they knew that temper of hers had nothing to do with the brain injury.
And, while she was busy on her new OT regime or sleeping off the exhaustion of her speech therapy, Seamus and I had a captive audience to bounce plans off of...we went swimming, played poker all night and took the kids out for junkfood and playgrounds.
They say misery loves company, but I think we both had a lot of fun talking about the great stuff ahead instead of the shit behind us both. It was a moment out of time and it gave us both space to breathe.
It wasn't sympathy or pity, it was just good company.
Of course, on the downside, it's hard being single and hanging around with a gorgeous, six-foot-six Dad with kids, in a car full of babyseats - definitely reduces my chances of picking up single men at the beach. LOL.
Lovely though, to be somewhere safe and friendly where 'real life' has also been suspended for a little while, to be able to talk and not feel guilty that you're sucking up someone else's life - that's the beauty of the hour and a half drive between their home and Trixie's hospital.
And I got to see him step up and take on a new future, with all the changes he's going to have to make in their home and their lives.
Why are some of us only at our best when we're facing insurmountable odds?
Whatever it was, these last few days, it saved my life I think.
That my first days away from my old home and my old life weren't spent crying over 'woulda, shoulda, couldabeens'...I will always be thankful for that time to see 'Trixie' & 'Seamus' both on the road to recovery, and to point myself in the same direction.
Love & Chocolate
Scientists say that love generates the same chemicals in the brain as chocolate.
Ironic that after my husband left me I had no interest in chocolate either.
Of course, the lack of appetite associated with depression could just be a biological imperative to get me thin enough that other men want to breed with me again - how sad eh?
Does that mean, when I'm happier again, I'm going to start porking up all over again.
How very Bridget Jones-ish.
Ironic that after my husband left me I had no interest in chocolate either.
Of course, the lack of appetite associated with depression could just be a biological imperative to get me thin enough that other men want to breed with me again - how sad eh?
Does that mean, when I'm happier again, I'm going to start porking up all over again.
How very Bridget Jones-ish.
And the tides, they are a'changing
The tides of my life, my emotions, are constantly chaning.
But for the moment, I feel like I'm riding the waves rather than being dumped and pummeled underneath them.
I saw our house for the first time in a year last week, and I understood the real meaning of despair.
For The Man to leave it like that - like one of those Council flats they bulldoze rather than try and clean, made my guts wrench...and not just from the food left in the fridge for a year.
This, the man who would move the fridge and clean under it while the kids slept, has given up so completely that he would leave an empty house full of groceries and letters on the carpet.
I wanted to cry...but I've done enough of that.
Instead I rang the buyer who wants our second block and I asked him for a firm offer.
There's no going back now.
There's too much work ahead of me for that.
But for the moment, I feel like I'm riding the waves rather than being dumped and pummeled underneath them.
I saw our house for the first time in a year last week, and I understood the real meaning of despair.
For The Man to leave it like that - like one of those Council flats they bulldoze rather than try and clean, made my guts wrench...and not just from the food left in the fridge for a year.
This, the man who would move the fridge and clean under it while the kids slept, has given up so completely that he would leave an empty house full of groceries and letters on the carpet.
I wanted to cry...but I've done enough of that.
Instead I rang the buyer who wants our second block and I asked him for a firm offer.
There's no going back now.
There's too much work ahead of me for that.
Not quite a haiku
My love...I set you free.
My hate, my jealousy, my regrets...I let go of my grip on you.
My future, however uncertain...I embrace you.
Hey, that's pretty good.
I reckon if I put it on an email, give it a month and someone will send it back to me with emoticons at the bottom!
My hate, my jealousy, my regrets...I let go of my grip on you.
My future, however uncertain...I embrace you.
Hey, that's pretty good.
I reckon if I put it on an email, give it a month and someone will send it back to me with emoticons at the bottom!
Leaving...
There were so many times after The Man's affair that I drove this road and imagined what it would be like to just keep driving, away from him and all this bullshit forever, just never come back.
I'm free of that feeling now. Free of that dread of the road ahead.
I realised it halfway to Adelaide.
I don't dread it anymore.
Somewhere out of Pimba a weight slipped off my shoulders and I got my balls back.
I wish he could be here, in the car, laughing with me...but there's no going back and there's a whole lot of things ahead of me.
I'm parked on the side of the road, watching the sunset.
It's a nice reminder that, for every sunset, there's a new sunrise tomorrow - even if it is going to get pretty damn dark tonight.
I'm free of that feeling now. Free of that dread of the road ahead.
I realised it halfway to Adelaide.
I don't dread it anymore.
Somewhere out of Pimba a weight slipped off my shoulders and I got my balls back.
I wish he could be here, in the car, laughing with me...but there's no going back and there's a whole lot of things ahead of me.
I'm parked on the side of the road, watching the sunset.
It's a nice reminder that, for every sunset, there's a new sunrise tomorrow - even if it is going to get pretty damn dark tonight.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
A bad day today...
It's a bad day today.
Full moon always makes me crazy I guess.
I keep getting my hopes up...stupid isn't it.
A few civil words and I think we're friends again.
We're not friends, we're not enemies, we're not partners, we're nothing very important at all.
You can't be any clearer than "I don't love you - leave me alone!"
He apologised for saying it and I said, no, keep saying it till it sinks in.
I hope it sinks in soon.
Full moon always makes me crazy I guess.
I keep getting my hopes up...stupid isn't it.
A few civil words and I think we're friends again.
We're not friends, we're not enemies, we're not partners, we're nothing very important at all.
You can't be any clearer than "I don't love you - leave me alone!"
He apologised for saying it and I said, no, keep saying it till it sinks in.
I hope it sinks in soon.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
...and down again.
Things have been calm lately.
Got things to do, got light at the end of tunnel, got space and distance between me and The Man which we're both benefiting from.
But every once and a while it hits me.
The man I love doesn't love me.
That hurts, it still hurts.
I'll be his friend, but I don't know if I can ever forgive him for being able to get over me.
Got things to do, got light at the end of tunnel, got space and distance between me and The Man which we're both benefiting from.
But every once and a while it hits me.
The man I love doesn't love me.
That hurts, it still hurts.
I'll be his friend, but I don't know if I can ever forgive him for being able to get over me.
Trilling Frogs
I just realised...some of you may have no idea what a Trilling Frog is.
I even wrote a song about them.
I'm obviously going to have to dig up the lyrics and publish the MP3s now that I am officially a web geek. (Yes, I know all you true geeks are saying to yourself, not if she still can't get her links right).
The Trilling Frog is one of my favourite Outback creatures - and I'm a sucker for snakes, geckos and frogs.
The frog only comes out at night when there's been enough rain to soak down through the clay levels where it has burrowed to escape the dry.
They literally come out, breed, give birth in the puddles and go back to sleep for as long as 10 years (if only, eh?).
Local opal miners have found them in the clay levels above potch and opal veins and quite a few locals up here have fished one out of the swimming pool and ended up with a family pet in a fishtank of sand.
The thing is, when they sing, it richochets out over the desert, and while not the best looks or the most melodious sound, these guys are unique to this part of the world - as were we, the 'Trilling Frogs'. To listen to the original 'Trilling Frogs', log onto http://www.environment.sa.gov.au/epa/frogcensus/central.html.
My daughter actually brought this site home to me from her science class and we had lots of funs listening to frog calls - I showed her the difference between the rainforest frogs I grew up with and the desert frogs we now here on rainy nights.
For the not-so-original but equally local 'Trilling Frogs' - check out my link at the right - I'm the one singing 'He's a Rebel' and 'California Dreaming' - and in my defence, I never said we were good, just that we were unique.
I even wrote a song about them.
I'm obviously going to have to dig up the lyrics and publish the MP3s now that I am officially a web geek. (Yes, I know all you true geeks are saying to yourself, not if she still can't get her links right).
The Trilling Frog is one of my favourite Outback creatures - and I'm a sucker for snakes, geckos and frogs.
The frog only comes out at night when there's been enough rain to soak down through the clay levels where it has burrowed to escape the dry.
They literally come out, breed, give birth in the puddles and go back to sleep for as long as 10 years (if only, eh?).
Local opal miners have found them in the clay levels above potch and opal veins and quite a few locals up here have fished one out of the swimming pool and ended up with a family pet in a fishtank of sand.
The thing is, when they sing, it richochets out over the desert, and while not the best looks or the most melodious sound, these guys are unique to this part of the world - as were we, the 'Trilling Frogs'. To listen to the original 'Trilling Frogs', log onto http://www.environment.sa.gov.au/epa/frogcensus/central.html.
My daughter actually brought this site home to me from her science class and we had lots of funs listening to frog calls - I showed her the difference between the rainforest frogs I grew up with and the desert frogs we now here on rainy nights.
For the not-so-original but equally local 'Trilling Frogs' - check out my link at the right - I'm the one singing 'He's a Rebel' and 'California Dreaming' - and in my defence, I never said we were good, just that we were unique.
Bum Bum Bum Bum
Tonight I'll be singing with my temporarily revived a cappela group, and I can't remember any of the Christmas carol parts I used to sing - in fact, they used to give me the lead just because I took too long to learn something new.
Four days to relearn 10 carols - good thing there'll be 4000 people singing along with us to drown out my off-beat 'bum bum bum bums'.
When the 'Trilling Frogs' were 'on the rise' - LOL - we had our own website.
You can still listen to us sing on http://trillingfrogs.music.net.au/ - we even cut a CD and video, if that's what you can call stuffing up three original songs in front of the Ausmusic recording crowd.
I believe my intro on the site went something like this...Red_Head_Riot is a constant source of diversion and mild confusion to her fellow frogs. But - let's face it, when you're constantly required to sing 'bum bum bum' next to a bunch of high-pitched skinny chicks then you have to have a sense of humour.
I sang at my wedding - people cried.
If only I knew then eh?
Hold on - I never actually established why people were crying...maybe I'm going to need to practice those carols right now.
Bum Bum Bum Bum!
Four days to relearn 10 carols - good thing there'll be 4000 people singing along with us to drown out my off-beat 'bum bum bum bums'.
When the 'Trilling Frogs' were 'on the rise' - LOL - we had our own website.
You can still listen to us sing on http://trillingfrogs.music.net.au/ - we even cut a CD and video, if that's what you can call stuffing up three original songs in front of the Ausmusic recording crowd.
I believe my intro on the site went something like this...Red_Head_Riot is a constant source of diversion and mild confusion to her fellow frogs. But - let's face it, when you're constantly required to sing 'bum bum bum' next to a bunch of high-pitched skinny chicks then you have to have a sense of humour.
I sang at my wedding - people cried.
If only I knew then eh?
Hold on - I never actually established why people were crying...maybe I'm going to need to practice those carols right now.
Bum Bum Bum Bum!
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Words, words & more words
Where did all these words come from?
They're just bubbling up out of me lately.
I've heard that, when you're trying to find what to do with your life, you should ask "if money was never, ever a problem, ever again, what would I choose to do with my life?"
My answer is 'write'.
I love music, I can sing a little bit and I can paint and draw a little bit - and I hope to do a little bit more of both in my new life.
But if I never had to pay a bill again, I would write.
I especially realise that now, when I find myself writing letters, blogs, diary entries, fiction, poetry - and that's in addition to the writing I do for a living.
It's a hard goal to realise though.
The fact is, I'm researching all sorts of ways to improve and eventually publish my writing right now, and every single book I read has a big warning about 'writer's block' or, as we like to call it in the newspaper industry, 'faffing around until someone starts yelling at you'.
That's why deadlines are so fantastic.
We've had a couple of students win school awards for their volunteer work at the newspaper and each time they've been congratulated on working 'independently with minimal adult guidance'.
I've explained to the teachers that, firstly, we have a very effective filtering system for our student volunteers.
We only employ the ones who aren't scared by my interviewing spiel which usually goes "I'm going to give you a job, you're going to go do it and you're going to be required to get it right because not only will I read it, but so will everyone you know, including the person you talked to, and if you stuff it up or don't do it before deadline you will receive a midnight phone call from me and you will come into the office and do it then and you can explain to your parents why you're getting midnight phone calls from your boss".
The fear of being yelled at at the end of the day, is just as effective and much better time management than following someone around all day to make sure they get it right.
So, back to me - because, obviously, I'm the reason you're reading this big long-winded blog.
I'm a procrastinator - you know that because right now I'm supposed to be finishing a 24-page newspaper, my last one, possibly for ever.
And, writing fiction doesn't come with deadlines.
I'm going to have to set my own when I get to The Farm (as advised by one of my 'how to write a novel' books...what I should write is a book about how to write a book, there must be more people than just me buying them) an hour a day where I HAVE to write.
Shouldn't be hard - heaven knows my nights aren't full of excitement any more.
So, it's true, one door closes and another door opens.
My nights will no longer be filled with long chats, shoulder-to-shoulder TV-watching or hot sex - but there will be lots of time to become a famous and successful novellist.
When you think about that, though, it makes you wonder how David Eddings, Raymond E Feist and Stephen King managed to have anyone to dedicate their books to eh?
They're just bubbling up out of me lately.
I've heard that, when you're trying to find what to do with your life, you should ask "if money was never, ever a problem, ever again, what would I choose to do with my life?"
My answer is 'write'.
I love music, I can sing a little bit and I can paint and draw a little bit - and I hope to do a little bit more of both in my new life.
But if I never had to pay a bill again, I would write.
I especially realise that now, when I find myself writing letters, blogs, diary entries, fiction, poetry - and that's in addition to the writing I do for a living.
It's a hard goal to realise though.
The fact is, I'm researching all sorts of ways to improve and eventually publish my writing right now, and every single book I read has a big warning about 'writer's block' or, as we like to call it in the newspaper industry, 'faffing around until someone starts yelling at you'.
That's why deadlines are so fantastic.
We've had a couple of students win school awards for their volunteer work at the newspaper and each time they've been congratulated on working 'independently with minimal adult guidance'.
I've explained to the teachers that, firstly, we have a very effective filtering system for our student volunteers.
We only employ the ones who aren't scared by my interviewing spiel which usually goes "I'm going to give you a job, you're going to go do it and you're going to be required to get it right because not only will I read it, but so will everyone you know, including the person you talked to, and if you stuff it up or don't do it before deadline you will receive a midnight phone call from me and you will come into the office and do it then and you can explain to your parents why you're getting midnight phone calls from your boss".
The fear of being yelled at at the end of the day, is just as effective and much better time management than following someone around all day to make sure they get it right.
So, back to me - because, obviously, I'm the reason you're reading this big long-winded blog.
I'm a procrastinator - you know that because right now I'm supposed to be finishing a 24-page newspaper, my last one, possibly for ever.
And, writing fiction doesn't come with deadlines.
I'm going to have to set my own when I get to The Farm (as advised by one of my 'how to write a novel' books...what I should write is a book about how to write a book, there must be more people than just me buying them) an hour a day where I HAVE to write.
Shouldn't be hard - heaven knows my nights aren't full of excitement any more.
So, it's true, one door closes and another door opens.
My nights will no longer be filled with long chats, shoulder-to-shoulder TV-watching or hot sex - but there will be lots of time to become a famous and successful novellist.
When you think about that, though, it makes you wonder how David Eddings, Raymond E Feist and Stephen King managed to have anyone to dedicate their books to eh?
Funny
This one still makes me laugh...
A husband says to his wife, "honey, if you learnt to cook, we could save money and fire the chef".
She replies, "honey, if you learnt how to fuck, we could save money and fire the chauffeu".
Aaaah, a real classic!
A husband says to his wife, "honey, if you learnt to cook, we could save money and fire the chef".
She replies, "honey, if you learnt how to fuck, we could save money and fire the chauffeu".
Aaaah, a real classic!
Empty Nest Syndrome
My babies flew away yesterday.
And while I'll see them in two weeks - we'll be settling into a whole new nest next time I'm with them and it's a very unsettling feeling.
Normally I'd be so excited about having some time to myself but it's very final this move, and it brings with it a whole bunch of other hurdles.
How am I going to get them settled at The Farm?
What do I need to do there before we can move in - I'll start with a big round of spider napalm, a false floor and get a sparkie to hook up my new septic system, get the old tank filled in, the fences back up and the weeds mowed down.
And all of that, with no money.
I'll finish up work on the 16th, sing at the local pageant on the 17th, travel to The Farm on the 18th and have to spend the 19th at the dentist, mechanic and Centrelink, before fighting Christmas traffic all the way to the City to see my friend in ICU.
It's nice to be moving forward again but there's so much to do, and not enough money or time to get it all done in.
In the next three months I have Christmas, New Year's, access visits with The Big Girl so she can have a second Christmas with The Kids and their Dad, an operation for The Boy, a whole lot of renovations, possibly a landsale to pay for my kitchen floors and plastered walls and, of course, holiday swimming lessons to boot.
I'm just chewing on one bite at a time though.
Get the paper out today, clean out my house & my work computer and office next week, get to the dentist, mechanic, Centrelink and The City the week after and be with The Kids for Christmas.
It seems a lot, even cutting it down to those two weeks, but it's just one step at a time.
And they're all forward steps...no more going backwards!
As Aldous Huxley would say - "it's a brave new world", but hopefully without all the test tubes and the need for happy pills.
And while I'll see them in two weeks - we'll be settling into a whole new nest next time I'm with them and it's a very unsettling feeling.
Normally I'd be so excited about having some time to myself but it's very final this move, and it brings with it a whole bunch of other hurdles.
How am I going to get them settled at The Farm?
What do I need to do there before we can move in - I'll start with a big round of spider napalm, a false floor and get a sparkie to hook up my new septic system, get the old tank filled in, the fences back up and the weeds mowed down.
And all of that, with no money.
I'll finish up work on the 16th, sing at the local pageant on the 17th, travel to The Farm on the 18th and have to spend the 19th at the dentist, mechanic and Centrelink, before fighting Christmas traffic all the way to the City to see my friend in ICU.
It's nice to be moving forward again but there's so much to do, and not enough money or time to get it all done in.
In the next three months I have Christmas, New Year's, access visits with The Big Girl so she can have a second Christmas with The Kids and their Dad, an operation for The Boy, a whole lot of renovations, possibly a landsale to pay for my kitchen floors and plastered walls and, of course, holiday swimming lessons to boot.
I'm just chewing on one bite at a time though.
Get the paper out today, clean out my house & my work computer and office next week, get to the dentist, mechanic, Centrelink and The City the week after and be with The Kids for Christmas.
It seems a lot, even cutting it down to those two weeks, but it's just one step at a time.
And they're all forward steps...no more going backwards!
As Aldous Huxley would say - "it's a brave new world", but hopefully without all the test tubes and the need for happy pills.
Reading the Signs
OK - you know it's a wobbly kind of day when I pull out the Tarot cards.
Last night they told me I was giving up a secure financial position for something more risky, even a little dodgy, and they also told me I was leaving a love out of pure necessity, without hope for reconciliation, and then my personal card was the Empress, heralding an earthier, more homely, maternal life with all the rewards and hardships associated with it.
Well duh!
My fucking Counsellor and best friends told me that!
I had a really vivid dream about reading with the kids in bed and my tooth just dropped out between us onto the pillow.
My friend and her mum insisted this had a meaning, so I googled it.
Apparently, "a tooth falling out within the dream may represent making way for the new. Or losing a tooth may represent an inability to get a grip on something, failing to fully comprehend it".
Well duh, again!
I think the kids and I are all going through a little bit of both those things.
But, frankly, what's the use of being a bloody Gypsy fortune teller if it's all bloody obvious anyway!
That's how the scammers really make their money - by being naturally perceptive.
What this all adds up to is the fact that I should learn my cards and make a living reading fortunes at the Laura Folk Fair and share the confusion around a little.
And if I did that, then my other's friends 'reflexology' summation of my large-lobed open-topped ears which - apparently, trap and funnel good fortune like Dumbo's ears direct the slipstream - might just be true because I'll make a fortune telling lonely 40-year-olds about their next dark, mysterious stranger.
Blah - it's so hard to be a cynic and a psychic all at the same time.
LOL
Last night they told me I was giving up a secure financial position for something more risky, even a little dodgy, and they also told me I was leaving a love out of pure necessity, without hope for reconciliation, and then my personal card was the Empress, heralding an earthier, more homely, maternal life with all the rewards and hardships associated with it.
Well duh!
My fucking Counsellor and best friends told me that!
I had a really vivid dream about reading with the kids in bed and my tooth just dropped out between us onto the pillow.
My friend and her mum insisted this had a meaning, so I googled it.
Apparently, "a tooth falling out within the dream may represent making way for the new. Or losing a tooth may represent an inability to get a grip on something, failing to fully comprehend it".
Well duh, again!
I think the kids and I are all going through a little bit of both those things.
But, frankly, what's the use of being a bloody Gypsy fortune teller if it's all bloody obvious anyway!
That's how the scammers really make their money - by being naturally perceptive.
What this all adds up to is the fact that I should learn my cards and make a living reading fortunes at the Laura Folk Fair and share the confusion around a little.
And if I did that, then my other's friends 'reflexology' summation of my large-lobed open-topped ears which - apparently, trap and funnel good fortune like Dumbo's ears direct the slipstream - might just be true because I'll make a fortune telling lonely 40-year-olds about their next dark, mysterious stranger.
Blah - it's so hard to be a cynic and a psychic all at the same time.
LOL
Thursday, December 08, 2005
I've Heard a Rubber Band
The rubber bands must have worked.
See http://hobbyfarmhopefuls.blogspot.com/2005/12/aversion-therapy.html
Or it could just be that the last fight was just one fight too many.
In that case I have a whole new use for the rubber bands - you know what they do to male sheep with a rubber band don't you?
See http://hobbyfarmhopefuls.blogspot.com/2005/12/aversion-therapy.html
Or it could just be that the last fight was just one fight too many.
In that case I have a whole new use for the rubber bands - you know what they do to male sheep with a rubber band don't you?
People These Days
I've just realised what incredible narcissism a website like this is.
It's self-obsessive, gratuitous and self-promoting - and I'm loving it to death.
I log on and look at myself, talk about myself, select my own elite group of 'friends' and share my information just as selectly.
Now we know what the answer is when they say "what's wrong with people these days?"
It's the fact that we only ever deal with the edited, photoshopped versions of ourselves and we get to choose what aspects of ourselves other people see and read.
And at the same time, there's an opportunity to attract outside interest from strangers all over the world which, in itself, is pretty gratifying - and let's face it, if you've got the right log-on or web photo, you can pretty much hedge your bets.
My husband used to call me Gypsy, and logged me on as Gypsy_Eyes when we first discovered ICQ (sadly, I discarded the nickname when my husband discarded me) and I was guaranteed a bombardment of hits every time I logged on.
The internet - a chance to lie all you like, and never get caught or sued. Institutionalised 'bullshitting' - no wonder people just don't trust other people anymore.
Oh, I'm getting SO old!
It's self-obsessive, gratuitous and self-promoting - and I'm loving it to death.
I log on and look at myself, talk about myself, select my own elite group of 'friends' and share my information just as selectly.
Now we know what the answer is when they say "what's wrong with people these days?"
It's the fact that we only ever deal with the edited, photoshopped versions of ourselves and we get to choose what aspects of ourselves other people see and read.
And at the same time, there's an opportunity to attract outside interest from strangers all over the world which, in itself, is pretty gratifying - and let's face it, if you've got the right log-on or web photo, you can pretty much hedge your bets.
My husband used to call me Gypsy, and logged me on as Gypsy_Eyes when we first discovered ICQ (sadly, I discarded the nickname when my husband discarded me) and I was guaranteed a bombardment of hits every time I logged on.
The internet - a chance to lie all you like, and never get caught or sued. Institutionalised 'bullshitting' - no wonder people just don't trust other people anymore.
Oh, I'm getting SO old!
Evil Plots
A good friend & I are so impressed by our own, combined cleverness that we actually keep our emails back and forwards - it's been going on for more than 12 years now - and I just took a little wander down cyberspace's own memory lane today.
One of my favourites, and reasonably relevant, is my ranting over The Man's inability to get the kids to school on time the one day of the fortnight I used to come to work early.
"My husband got very snotty last night because I happened to mention that if I wasn't around no one got anywhere on time, ever, and that even if I was around he was a fucking handicap to good timekeeping
It's 8.30am and I just rang him, the phone woke him up...when we get The Girl's report at the end of the year it will say every second Tuesday she was late for school!
I hope she cries and makes him feel like shit..."
My friend replied "That sounds like six months' worth of I-Told-You-So".
But my plan went a little differently...
"Or just a good, sound slapping when he goes to sleep.
Actually, what I'm going to do is program his watch, his phone, the clock and my phone so they all go off at 15 minute intervals and then put a big post-it on the kettle, his smokes packet and the back of the toilet door that says "what time is it honey?"...dickhead!"
She replied "LMAO oh do it, that sounds hysterical - can you set your stereo to go off? I can and that's pretty amazing if you forget to turn the volume down - it's out in the lounge and the house just starts to rumble and shake - LOL"
In my defense, The Kids have been late and lunchless several times since The Man moved out and I even received a lecture on letting up and 'going with the flow' when it comes to staying out past bedtime.
I even have a copy of all their late days printed off for the next time he gets up my nose - but considering tomorrow is their last day at this school and, if all goes to plan, he'll only ever have to get them to school one day a fortnight from now on, I think I can live.
I sure as hell know it's not a fight I'm ever going to win.'
Time to back off and breathe - the kids are too anal themselves to let him get away with it for long!
Other favourites include:
"I'm doing a story for the vet about national desexing month and I've titled it 'The Kindest Cut'.
I crack myself up
This is how writers in seclusion go crazy you know."
I think we'll have to do a search and rescue mission and dig up some other favourite reminiscings.
One of my favourites, and reasonably relevant, is my ranting over The Man's inability to get the kids to school on time the one day of the fortnight I used to come to work early.
"My husband got very snotty last night because I happened to mention that if I wasn't around no one got anywhere on time, ever, and that even if I was around he was a fucking handicap to good timekeeping
It's 8.30am and I just rang him, the phone woke him up...when we get The Girl's report at the end of the year it will say every second Tuesday she was late for school!
I hope she cries and makes him feel like shit..."
My friend replied "That sounds like six months' worth of I-Told-You-So".
But my plan went a little differently...
"Or just a good, sound slapping when he goes to sleep.
Actually, what I'm going to do is program his watch, his phone, the clock and my phone so they all go off at 15 minute intervals and then put a big post-it on the kettle, his smokes packet and the back of the toilet door that says "what time is it honey?"...dickhead!"
She replied "LMAO oh do it, that sounds hysterical - can you set your stereo to go off? I can and that's pretty amazing if you forget to turn the volume down - it's out in the lounge and the house just starts to rumble and shake - LOL"
In my defense, The Kids have been late and lunchless several times since The Man moved out and I even received a lecture on letting up and 'going with the flow' when it comes to staying out past bedtime.
I even have a copy of all their late days printed off for the next time he gets up my nose - but considering tomorrow is their last day at this school and, if all goes to plan, he'll only ever have to get them to school one day a fortnight from now on, I think I can live.
I sure as hell know it's not a fight I'm ever going to win.'
Time to back off and breathe - the kids are too anal themselves to let him get away with it for long!
Other favourites include:
"I'm doing a story for the vet about national desexing month and I've titled it 'The Kindest Cut'.
I crack myself up
This is how writers in seclusion go crazy you know."
I think we'll have to do a search and rescue mission and dig up some other favourite reminiscings.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Christmas Conscience
He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!
How's that for a threat to have little kids shaking in their boots?
The Kids already have a healthy dose of inbuilt guilt.
The Girl used to come to us when she'd done something naughty and announce that she was going to her room.
But I was unprepared for the Christmas when we lined up with 300 other pageant-goers to meet Santa Claus for a present.
In fact we lined up twice because we got palmed off onto an Elf the first time and the kids only wanted the real thing.
So, after a half hour of standing in 42 degree heat being papered all over both thighs with little sticky handprints, we finally reach St Nick and he asks "have you been good this year?" - and The Boy promptly bursts into tears.
I think next year we'll celebrate Solstice instead and go sit naked under a tree somewhere - bugger the red coats and Elves.
How's that for a threat to have little kids shaking in their boots?
The Kids already have a healthy dose of inbuilt guilt.
The Girl used to come to us when she'd done something naughty and announce that she was going to her room.
But I was unprepared for the Christmas when we lined up with 300 other pageant-goers to meet Santa Claus for a present.
In fact we lined up twice because we got palmed off onto an Elf the first time and the kids only wanted the real thing.
So, after a half hour of standing in 42 degree heat being papered all over both thighs with little sticky handprints, we finally reach St Nick and he asks "have you been good this year?" - and The Boy promptly bursts into tears.
I think next year we'll celebrate Solstice instead and go sit naked under a tree somewhere - bugger the red coats and Elves.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Goodbye
I said goodbye to my husband today.
No more phone calls, no more letters, no more emails, no more 'little talks'.
No more hoping it'll be ok one day.
I'm going to let him go.
I'm going to find me again.
No more phone calls, no more letters, no more emails, no more 'little talks'.
No more hoping it'll be ok one day.
I'm going to let him go.
I'm going to find me again.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Aversion Therapy
I have my own new cure.
I am going to get a half dozen rubber bands and wear them on my wrist.
Every time I go to ring The Man, I'm going to snap the bands.
Every time I fixate on someone who hurt me, I'm going to snap the bands.
Every time I start talking myself down, or feeling sorry for myself, I'm going to snap the bands.
Starting... ...now!
Ouch!
I am going to get a half dozen rubber bands and wear them on my wrist.
Every time I go to ring The Man, I'm going to snap the bands.
Every time I fixate on someone who hurt me, I'm going to snap the bands.
Every time I start talking myself down, or feeling sorry for myself, I'm going to snap the bands.
Starting... ...now!
Ouch!
Presents Tense
The Man told me, today, that's he's taking the kids to buy me a Christmas present and I went ballistic.
I haven't received a gift from the man since The Mother's Day he moved out, and before that, it was the Christmas I was pregnant with our daughter.
I was so horrified that he'd be doing that whole 'let's buy something nice for Mummy' scene with the kids - and it wouldn't mean anything?
It was such a slap in the face.
I was thinking it's almost certainly an overreaction but I just took it so personally.
You buy gifts for people you care about - he can't tell me he doesn't care about me and then play 'Secret Santa' with the kids when I'm working, every day, to make sure they know we're not going to be together and that they'll still be ok.
He doesn't buy presents for his other ex. Fuck, he hasn't even bought the kids a Christmas present since they were born - I always organised the gifts because he hated spending money or planning ahead.
Maybe I'm just offended that he'll wait till I'm gone to put time into things I thought was important.
Whatever - all I know is I don't want a bullshit, pity present and I do not want the kids thinking Daddy feels good things about me, because he doesn't.
It's all just crap and I wish Christmas didn't exist this year.
I haven't received a gift from the man since The Mother's Day he moved out, and before that, it was the Christmas I was pregnant with our daughter.
I was so horrified that he'd be doing that whole 'let's buy something nice for Mummy' scene with the kids - and it wouldn't mean anything?
It was such a slap in the face.
I was thinking it's almost certainly an overreaction but I just took it so personally.
You buy gifts for people you care about - he can't tell me he doesn't care about me and then play 'Secret Santa' with the kids when I'm working, every day, to make sure they know we're not going to be together and that they'll still be ok.
He doesn't buy presents for his other ex. Fuck, he hasn't even bought the kids a Christmas present since they were born - I always organised the gifts because he hated spending money or planning ahead.
Maybe I'm just offended that he'll wait till I'm gone to put time into things I thought was important.
Whatever - all I know is I don't want a bullshit, pity present and I do not want the kids thinking Daddy feels good things about me, because he doesn't.
It's all just crap and I wish Christmas didn't exist this year.
Blah, Blah, Blah.
God I'm so sick of myself.
I can't stand my own voice...blah, blah, blah.
Someone says 'how are you' and I actually tell them!
That's not fair, no one who asks that question is actually interested!
People make eye contact and all these words just come spilling out of my mouth.
I'm just plain scary!
No wonder Sleeping Beauty slept for a hundred years.
What they don't tell you is that before Prince Charming woke her up, there was a Prince Not-So-Charming that drove her to despair - it wasn't a spinning wheel's prick that caused all the trouble.
Gives you some interesting possibilities about the Wicked Fairy though doesn't it?
Yup, I think just sleeping through the whole recovery might be a good policy!
Maybe I'll plug myself in next to my friend in Adelaide and we can both enjoy hospital sheets and someone else cleaning the bathroom for us.
I can't stand my own voice...blah, blah, blah.
Someone says 'how are you' and I actually tell them!
That's not fair, no one who asks that question is actually interested!
People make eye contact and all these words just come spilling out of my mouth.
I'm just plain scary!
No wonder Sleeping Beauty slept for a hundred years.
What they don't tell you is that before Prince Charming woke her up, there was a Prince Not-So-Charming that drove her to despair - it wasn't a spinning wheel's prick that caused all the trouble.
Gives you some interesting possibilities about the Wicked Fairy though doesn't it?
Yup, I think just sleeping through the whole recovery might be a good policy!
Maybe I'll plug myself in next to my friend in Adelaide and we can both enjoy hospital sheets and someone else cleaning the bathroom for us.
Friday, December 02, 2005
It's Not Easy Being a Grown-Up
So here we are at the hardest part.
My divorced and separated friends have warned me how difficult it would be - the division of property - and I guess we're doing ok.
I rolled on the ground laughing when one friend told me about throwing his ex-wife's CDs, Stereo & LPs out the 2nd storey window after she demanded their return, dropping them on the ground in front of her and pissing on them from a great height.
Or the electric toothbrush set he'd given her for Christmas, her meekly asking for it and him saying "no, no take it, it's yours - take everything" knowing that he'd wiped his arse with each of those tiny, sterile-white little attachments.
I don't do these things because I know my own capacity for cruelty.
My friends have spent a lot of weeks telling me "well that's just not you, you wouldn't do that, you have too big a heart...blah, blah, blah" BULLSHIT!
If they knew how hard a hold I keep on the reins of my own malice they'd jump back a step.
I remember, listening after The Man's affair, to friends saying "as long as you're happy - that's all that matters" and me snapping - "no, as long as she's unhappy for the rest of her life - THAT's what matters".
The shock on my friend's face was so sincere it made me laugh out loud. I know for a fact, that she felt the same way - she just didn't expect me to.
I don't think people realise that The Man and I had to live with each other's moods and insecurities and anger and brooding and malice - because we're both such 'on' personalities in public.
We truly let each other into our hearts and lives - but that meant we let each other into the dark, nasty parts of our souls too. And it was just a bit too intense I think.
So here we are, making lists and totalling up investments and splitting up bank accounts - all very sensible and I've realised how tough I can be without having to actually be a bitch.
I have friends warning me that property is where things get nasty - and I remember The Man, one day leaving the Big Girl's mother's house just red with fury when he realised that he'd furnished her entire house, the house she now lived in with the man she'd been sleeping with while she was pregnant with The Man's daughter.
It's memories like that which have ensured I do this cleanly.
We had weeks of 'it'll be the same, I'll look after the kids the same way, I'll still help with money" and he almost seemed offended that I said 'no, we can't rely on that'.
I couldn't imagine it being ok to ring up and say 'can you come have the kids for an hour tonight' when he's supposed to be meeting his next girlfriend. I couldn't bare watching him get on with his life without me. And it's never going to be 'the same way'. And I can't ask him for help - for fuck's sake, I can't even look him in the eye without crying.
He left me, and then got hurt that I wanted his clothes and books and personal things gone straight away. I'm always amazed that he can only imagine consequences one step ahead.
He fucked around on me - but didn't want to leave.
He left me - but didn't want me to give him back his shit.
He doesn't want to be with me - but he's not ready to get a divorce.
Surely, by now, he's sure of his feelings. Why be such a pussy about it? Why hedge his bets? It drives me NUTS!
Does he need an off-ramp - is he liked the woman he slept with, he needs something better to go to, to let go of what he's unhappy with now?
God knows, I don't, and he's sure not talking to me about it.
I've realised that loyalty is important to me.
Not that silly, undying, 12-year-old best friendsm, back of the milk shed blood brothers kind of loyalty.
The real kind - that gets you through someone else's foibles and mistakes and keeps your eyes fixed on the things you love about them.
I figure if you know someone long enough, through good and bad times, you're going to find out things about them that you don't admire. And you get over it...that's friendship.
It's been very empowering to have people who (while not inclined to bag The Man -which I couldn't deal with, ironically) have been completely loyal and supporting to me.
These are the friends I cherish right now, who know that The Man doesn't have to be a villain for me to be hurt and I don't have to be a saint to deserve support.
I spent two hours on a phone to my friend in Adelaide the other night playing 'your life is shittier than my life" and I haven't laughed so hard in so long.
He shocked me, with his own capacity to be hard. He keeps telling me 'it's over - you can't think like that, you can't plan for The Man' - and he's not the only one who says it, but, for some reason, maybe because he's The Man's friend too, or maybe it's just because he's a guy I don't expect him to be good at blunting the edges, it doesn't hurt so much coming from him.
Or maybe it's because his own wife his paralysed in hospital and he's sitting at home at night waiting to see if she'll live or die - it's hard to be impatient with someone's honesty when they're dealing with their own hard reality.
My friend gave me good advice - something I had realised, and am working on.
He said "you need to find new things to fill your life - I found gambling, I wouldn't reccommend that".
You can see why we laughed for so long now, can't you?
I've got great things in my life - and The Man and I aren't fighting, that's the big bonus.
To be trapped in a permanent battle with the person your heart is wrapped around is just poisonous...that's the true meaning of a broken heart, when you tear it apart all by yourselves.
There's been minimal conflict between The Man and Me in front of The Kids - that's a bonus.
They've escaped the whole 'your Daddy, your Mummy' emotional propaganda that used to upset me so much, watching other couples breaking up.
Although it almost hurts the way they're taking it so well - how sad that we're teaching them that this is normal and OK.
It shouldn't be.
My divorced and separated friends have warned me how difficult it would be - the division of property - and I guess we're doing ok.
I rolled on the ground laughing when one friend told me about throwing his ex-wife's CDs, Stereo & LPs out the 2nd storey window after she demanded their return, dropping them on the ground in front of her and pissing on them from a great height.
Or the electric toothbrush set he'd given her for Christmas, her meekly asking for it and him saying "no, no take it, it's yours - take everything" knowing that he'd wiped his arse with each of those tiny, sterile-white little attachments.
I don't do these things because I know my own capacity for cruelty.
My friends have spent a lot of weeks telling me "well that's just not you, you wouldn't do that, you have too big a heart...blah, blah, blah" BULLSHIT!
If they knew how hard a hold I keep on the reins of my own malice they'd jump back a step.
I remember, listening after The Man's affair, to friends saying "as long as you're happy - that's all that matters" and me snapping - "no, as long as she's unhappy for the rest of her life - THAT's what matters".
The shock on my friend's face was so sincere it made me laugh out loud. I know for a fact, that she felt the same way - she just didn't expect me to.
I don't think people realise that The Man and I had to live with each other's moods and insecurities and anger and brooding and malice - because we're both such 'on' personalities in public.
We truly let each other into our hearts and lives - but that meant we let each other into the dark, nasty parts of our souls too. And it was just a bit too intense I think.
So here we are, making lists and totalling up investments and splitting up bank accounts - all very sensible and I've realised how tough I can be without having to actually be a bitch.
I have friends warning me that property is where things get nasty - and I remember The Man, one day leaving the Big Girl's mother's house just red with fury when he realised that he'd furnished her entire house, the house she now lived in with the man she'd been sleeping with while she was pregnant with The Man's daughter.
It's memories like that which have ensured I do this cleanly.
We had weeks of 'it'll be the same, I'll look after the kids the same way, I'll still help with money" and he almost seemed offended that I said 'no, we can't rely on that'.
I couldn't imagine it being ok to ring up and say 'can you come have the kids for an hour tonight' when he's supposed to be meeting his next girlfriend. I couldn't bare watching him get on with his life without me. And it's never going to be 'the same way'. And I can't ask him for help - for fuck's sake, I can't even look him in the eye without crying.
He left me, and then got hurt that I wanted his clothes and books and personal things gone straight away. I'm always amazed that he can only imagine consequences one step ahead.
He fucked around on me - but didn't want to leave.
He left me - but didn't want me to give him back his shit.
He doesn't want to be with me - but he's not ready to get a divorce.
Surely, by now, he's sure of his feelings. Why be such a pussy about it? Why hedge his bets? It drives me NUTS!
Does he need an off-ramp - is he liked the woman he slept with, he needs something better to go to, to let go of what he's unhappy with now?
God knows, I don't, and he's sure not talking to me about it.
I've realised that loyalty is important to me.
Not that silly, undying, 12-year-old best friendsm, back of the milk shed blood brothers kind of loyalty.
The real kind - that gets you through someone else's foibles and mistakes and keeps your eyes fixed on the things you love about them.
I figure if you know someone long enough, through good and bad times, you're going to find out things about them that you don't admire. And you get over it...that's friendship.
It's been very empowering to have people who (while not inclined to bag The Man -which I couldn't deal with, ironically) have been completely loyal and supporting to me.
These are the friends I cherish right now, who know that The Man doesn't have to be a villain for me to be hurt and I don't have to be a saint to deserve support.
I spent two hours on a phone to my friend in Adelaide the other night playing 'your life is shittier than my life" and I haven't laughed so hard in so long.
He shocked me, with his own capacity to be hard. He keeps telling me 'it's over - you can't think like that, you can't plan for The Man' - and he's not the only one who says it, but, for some reason, maybe because he's The Man's friend too, or maybe it's just because he's a guy I don't expect him to be good at blunting the edges, it doesn't hurt so much coming from him.
Or maybe it's because his own wife his paralysed in hospital and he's sitting at home at night waiting to see if she'll live or die - it's hard to be impatient with someone's honesty when they're dealing with their own hard reality.
My friend gave me good advice - something I had realised, and am working on.
He said "you need to find new things to fill your life - I found gambling, I wouldn't reccommend that".
You can see why we laughed for so long now, can't you?
I've got great things in my life - and The Man and I aren't fighting, that's the big bonus.
To be trapped in a permanent battle with the person your heart is wrapped around is just poisonous...that's the true meaning of a broken heart, when you tear it apart all by yourselves.
There's been minimal conflict between The Man and Me in front of The Kids - that's a bonus.
They've escaped the whole 'your Daddy, your Mummy' emotional propaganda that used to upset me so much, watching other couples breaking up.
Although it almost hurts the way they're taking it so well - how sad that we're teaching them that this is normal and OK.
It shouldn't be.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Phew!
Well, I'm breathing again.
Must be at an up bend on the grief cycle eh?
It feels wrong to feel good.
I must have a martyr complex.
So I've enrolled to start my teaching degree - I'll definitely be doing Children's Services III externally through Whyalla and I'm still waiting on news about the Open Learning program for secondary studies.
But if I do both, it should get me half way through my degree and make me eligible to do the degree externally.
It'll also boost my chances of getting part-time, flexible work as an ECW at the Kindy or an SSO at the local primary schools.
I'll still have time to freelance, start some other projects, be a great mum and a half-decent renovator...that's the plan at least. And it's nice to have a plan again.
Before then, I'm going to go see my friend in hospital.
I'm going to hold her hand, make sure she's got a silky pillowcase, decent music, all her personal skincare and I'm going to read her some HILARIOUS books - maybe Kaz Cooke's latest 'Kid Wrangling' book...I know she wet herself over the KC baby book 'Up the Duff'.
I'm going to take her little girl to the zoo and take her husband out to get drunk.
I'm going to buy myself some shoes and a new pair of bathers, maybe a sundress for Christmas, and go sit at the beach with a good book.
And if, occasionally, I feel like crying, there'll be no one to get all panicky and worry about me (love you all though I do).
This week my friends are throwing me a girly going-away night full of giggles, hors douvres and shouting over the top of each other - at least that's what I hope is going on because they won't tell me.
I've been assured that I won't be tied naked to any streetlamps.
But exciting to have a party organised for me instead of by me for once.
Work has taken a backseat, finally, at least in my mind, and I'm taking back the driver's seat...so all is good.
Phew!
Must be at an up bend on the grief cycle eh?
It feels wrong to feel good.
I must have a martyr complex.
So I've enrolled to start my teaching degree - I'll definitely be doing Children's Services III externally through Whyalla and I'm still waiting on news about the Open Learning program for secondary studies.
But if I do both, it should get me half way through my degree and make me eligible to do the degree externally.
It'll also boost my chances of getting part-time, flexible work as an ECW at the Kindy or an SSO at the local primary schools.
I'll still have time to freelance, start some other projects, be a great mum and a half-decent renovator...that's the plan at least. And it's nice to have a plan again.
Before then, I'm going to go see my friend in hospital.
I'm going to hold her hand, make sure she's got a silky pillowcase, decent music, all her personal skincare and I'm going to read her some HILARIOUS books - maybe Kaz Cooke's latest 'Kid Wrangling' book...I know she wet herself over the KC baby book 'Up the Duff'.
I'm going to take her little girl to the zoo and take her husband out to get drunk.
I'm going to buy myself some shoes and a new pair of bathers, maybe a sundress for Christmas, and go sit at the beach with a good book.
And if, occasionally, I feel like crying, there'll be no one to get all panicky and worry about me (love you all though I do).
This week my friends are throwing me a girly going-away night full of giggles, hors douvres and shouting over the top of each other - at least that's what I hope is going on because they won't tell me.
I've been assured that I won't be tied naked to any streetlamps.
But exciting to have a party organised for me instead of by me for once.
Work has taken a backseat, finally, at least in my mind, and I'm taking back the driver's seat...so all is good.
Phew!
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