Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Mother. (And Father?)

Having a day of feeling the loss of my Mum. They happen often. But today the loss is particularly achy. Don’t know why today. Just another, “it just is.”

It’s been more than thirteen years. She was only 55, vibrant, sparkly, and she left us so very suddenly.

Mum was so upbeat. She had fought her own battles, but always seemed to do so with panache, and made it look easy. That is the gift of a “glass half full” personality. Nothing kept her down for long. I often wonder what she thinks of how long I have been fighting this particular fight. Although, she was never one to go in for a lot of judgement. She would have understood that it is just taking as long as it takes for me.

So, in honour of my lovely mother, Marilyn, some Broods…

“Mother & Father”

The nights are getting shorter
I don’t know where they go
And I am getting older
And it’s starting to showAnd ever since I left my mother
It’s much harder to know
How to make my own life here
How to make my own home

I don’t want to wake up lonely
I don’t want to just be fine
I don’t want to keep on hoping
Forget what I have in mind
I don’t want to wake up lonely
I don’t want to just be fine
I don’t want to keep on hoping
Forget what I have in mind
Forget what I have in mind

I remember the time when a kiss on the hand was enough
Cause we knew we were free
And we knew what it meant to be loved

But ever since I left my father
It’s much harder to know
How to live my own life here
When all I need is home

I don’t want to wake up lonely
I don’t want to just be fine
I don’t want to keep on hoping
Forget what I have in mind
I don’t want to wake up lonely
I don’t want to just be fine
I don’t want to keep on hoping
Forget what I have in mind
Forget what I have in mind

As faces start to fade
They’re slipping through my hands
It’s where my heart was made
And my feet will always land

I don’t want to wake up lonely
I don’t want to just be fine
I don’t want to keep on hoping
Forget what I have in mind
I don’t want to wake up lonely
I don’t want to just be fine
I don’t want to keep on hoping
Forget what I have in mind
Forget what I have in mind

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Panic.

Well….

That’s a first.

Just had my first, full-blown, thought-I-was-gonna-die panic attack.

I have never had a full one in my life before. But I’ve known there was some pressure building. You see, living a lonely life, without the partner you adored, and shared every inane thought with, having decided you need to quit all of the people who you used to think were friends, and having not replaced them with real people, yet, having a very stressful week trying to get all of your pending assignments in order, and your work situation under control, and your kids are all away, the house is a pig sty, the pressure just exploded. I was supposed to go to the birthday lunch for the recently widowed friend of ours, the one whose young wife died a few months ago.

Now, I have some social anxiety that has popped up over the past two years, and I knew this would be a do full of swanky, ever-so-on-trend, skinny, fake bitches, Plastics. And I am too fat at the moment. My clothes are all too tight. I told TOIL late last night that I needed him to help me please. Help me choose something that was suitable, but that I didn’t look like an over-stuffed sausage in. And he told me that I would be fine. So, this morning, whilst I was desperately trying to get enthused about the latest in my conveyor-belt-unending-series of essays that are piling up in front of me, I thought about what to wear, and whether I could even spare the time away from the essay, as I had to go to the office for a full day yesterday (Saturday) to catch up, I thought I had two options. They both looked terrible, or rather, I FELT terrible in them. So I did my fat dance. That is when I try on about ten things, knowing full well that they are not going to fit. Then TOIL did that RIDICULOUS thing, where he just looked at me after he had been constantly reassuring me that they were all beautiful, and said, “well, you know why.”

Ladies….

When does telling your female partner – who is now full of body issues like some stupid teenage girl, because YOU FUCKED A SKINNY WHORE OVER AND OVER AND OVER – that the reason she doesn’t fit anything is because she hasn’t kept up her fitness regime, EVER work???

Hell. I KNOW this. I am desperate to get this fucking degree sorted so I can have some energy back, I look at my treadmill – or any other form of exercise – with a mixture of longing (for the body and health I get when I use the damn thing, and nothing more, I am an exercise struggler, hate it, but know it is absolutely essential) and utter loathing. I just haven’t any energy for it. I haven’t been for a run in 20 days. And I have got fat, and flabby, and I feel so damn blah, knowing I NEED to get on with it, but just not able to muster the energy. So, yeah, I KNOW I am fat because I haven’t been running! Full panic attack mode.

Shit. I thought I was gonna die – and wished I would at the same time – just more quickly and with less pain than I was experiencing. It lasted about 25-30 minutes or more, and was one of the more terrifying things I have experienced. Ever. The more I tried to breathe, and calm down, the worse it got. I’m exhausted. I already was as I haven’t been sleeping again. This did not help.

Anyway. It’s over now.

And I am not going. I begged TOIL to go, he didn’t want to without me. (He hates all the questions, “where’s Paula?”) He’s gone, and I am trying to get the first draft of the first essay, the one that is just about falling off that conveyor belt now, sorted.

Ironically, it is about fat identity and the city. Fuck.

After listening to this…..

 

Panic on the streets of London
Panic on the streets of Birmingham
I wonder to myself
Could life ever be sane again?
The Leeds side-streets that you slip down
I wonder to myself
Hopes may rise on the grasmere
But honey pie, you’re not safe here
So you run down
To the safety of the town
But there’s panic on the streets of Carlisle
Dublin, Dundee, Humberside
I wonder to myself

Burn down the disco
Hang the blessed dj
Because the music that they constantly play
It says nothing to me about my life
Hang the blessed dj
Because the music they constantly play

On the Leeds side-streets that you slip down
Provincial towns you jog ’round
Hang the dj, hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj, hang the dj, hang the dj
Hang the dj


19 Comments

More

It’s a funny (hahahaha) thing. But in the aftermath of an affair, no matter how remorseful, how truthful, how helpful, how open a cheater is, the person who was cheated on (I hate all the words for us “poor saps” none of them do us a whole lot of justice) will never know all of what happened during an affair. Between your love and someone who is utter scum.

That is just how life is.

No one can keep track of the minutiae of another’s life. It is just not possible.

But that didn’t matter in the days prior to the Tearing. I trusted him. I had an idea of how his days went for nineteen years, I worked shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Hell, I was there for most of those minutes! But even when I got an off-farm job, and we were doing “life” like so many other two income families, I thought I knew how his day went.

Up early.

Out to shift/feed/check animals. Put up electric fences in the autumn/winter/early spring (about a four hour job on our hill country.) Feed out. Check for electric fence shorts, solve any issues. Check water supply. Solve issues – hell there are some big issues on this property – a water wheel does the back third of our 1200 acres. and it needs watching, greasing and repairing – even rebuilding – often. We haven’t been here eight years yet and we have completely rebuilt it three times. It is awesome, using the power of water to pump pristine spring water up a 150 metre hill to a series of holding tanks, to water approximately 500 head of cattle. But it works hard, clean, green … and expensive to fix! (Although we now have a neighbour’s son, who is an engineer, on the case – he’s fantastic and has re-designed the whole system for us, at a very reasonable rate – thanks Cam!) In summer, a lot of weed control (this property was a deceased estate – a real doer-upper.) There is always something. He works twelve-fourteen hour days. Seven days a week. Always has.

I digress. I’m good like that.

The thing is, I am now five years, four months and two days post D-day. And last week, I found out two things I never knew. TOIL was very quickly aware that truth was ESSENTIAL to any chance of recovery, and he was really great about answering questions – knowing that I was walking if he didn’t answer. We did talk about how much information is too much, and I explained, that for me, there was no such thing. He even shared some intimate details without me doing any prompting (about an improvised “sex toy” he used one day on her.) I know it all – well, you never know it all, do you? You can’t.

The first thing was the time he fucked her three days after I told him we were done – FOR REAL. I somehow was under the impression that he drove up there, fucked her, they ate some food, drank some wine, he interrogated her (sorry, they “talked”) and then he left. Never to see her again. But I didn’t realise he stayed the night. It doesn’t matter. He stayed with her overnight two other times. Once in our lake house. And once in her house, it wasn’t planned, just an amazing coincidence that she flew home to the international airport city that she lived in the same day, and texted him, so he went and picked her up and had a lovely fuckfest (whilst I was in my car, in a sexy overcoat, stockings and suspenders, heels, like some kind of whore, outside the motel room I had booked him earlier that day, a suburb away, waiting to surprise him – a good thing, but thinking he was out drinking with some boys – never that he was fucking a whore – so I drove home, never thinking about it, nor mentioning it – I really wonder why I never asked??? So bloody trusting, the boy didn’t get out much, so I thought it was fun that he was hanging with some guys for a boozy night out. Dumbass that I was.) But he stayed that night, too.

Whatever.

The other thing was about his version of how he justified this in his head. He has always maintained that he thought if I found out, while he was fucking her, that I would be pleased – because apparently I was so unhappy. Mmmmm. Why did he never ask me WHY I was unhappy with him? (I wasn’t, I was stressed about doing a good job in my first paid job in 17 years, still being an involved mother, and what the heck had happened to my lovely life, my pedigree Holstein-Friesian herd, and my good life?) Noooo, apparently, I would be THRILLED he was cheating, and I would very JUSTLY prance about after kicking him to the curb, telling people he was cheating, go me. W. T. F??? But I have only just connected some (very obvious) dots. IF he thought this, why did he defend himself, deny, deny, deny, after the second time he fucked her – and I caught him – nearly a year before D-day? I saw a series of texts. They were not in any way sexual. I thought they were friends. I mean, I KNEW they texted a lot. He did this all the time, often showing me the texts, and rolling his eyes, “how dumb is this woman?” I genuinely thought she was my friend, his friend, everyone’s fucking friend. He said something about regrets. She said no need for regrets. I asked WTF? I asked him to leave the house (the kids were there) so we could talk. We did this, and as my mind raced, he just looked me in the eye and “explained” it all. He looked me straight in the eye and told me he was so sorry he forgot to tell me that he had driven up to her house (three hours away) and broken up some concrete for her in her garden. I looked at him and said, “WTF??? She’s your cheating ex-girlfriend – you were TOO BUSY to come away with the kids and me fishing, but you drove a six hour round trip to BREAK UP CONCRETE FOR YOUR CHEATING EX-GIRLFRIEND?????????” Somehow he convinced me in those three hours, he was kind, he was loving, he never flinched, nor needed time to formulate a story. He apologised for doing something that LOOKED so bad. He held me as I wept and screamed, and slid down the wall. I walked out of there feeling like the world’s biggest heel. I had doubted the most wonderful man.

FUCK!

So, if he thought I would be HAPPY if I found out, why? I call BULL. SHIT.

So, as the cheap TV ad goes in my country. “But wait. There’s more.”


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Results …… and other things.

Been a little while. Life has been busy in the Land of the Torn. Apologies.

We had Chilean billets for a few nights this week, a sporting exchange with my kids’ school. That was fun, and they were just awesome girls! I also had to fit in two and a half work days into my week (I go to uni four days.) Mmmm, the juggling continues…

I also got the mark and hard copy back on my essay on online spaces and the body. I got an A+, (95%.) That was a relief. First time I handed in something that no other eyes had been over – usually one of my kids, they are great at editing – to correct any flaws that I missed. But best of all, when I picked up the hard copy, the marking tutor (who I emailed in a mild panic halfway through – she has almost completed her PhD on online gaming, romance and the 30+ year old woman – can’t remember the exact title, but it is interesting) wrote a really great critique on it, with some perfect tips about fine-tuning my academic writing style – mostly about more seamless incorporation of quotes.  Then the lecturer, a teaching fellow, wrote a page and a half on the back of it. Quite personal, not inappropriate, VERY empathetic, and thanking me for my commitment (hell, I’m GREAT at commitment – until someone caused me to question that commitment 🙂 ) to the topic and that she was very grateful for my candour, and that my piece had opened her eyes to some different aspects of the online body – as places of healing – and I think she might be interested in using some for some new research she is tooling around with in her head. She asked me if I ever wanted to catch up for coffee, that she’d love to with such a brave soul, but respected that this was an exposing piece and would understand if I didn’t. I took the paper to my car and wept big, wet tears.

Sissy.

I was talking to TOIL about this a few days ago – he never asked about it. I told him I had done well and that there were some moving comments from the teaching staff. I guess I thought natural curiousity would nudge him to enquire further.

Nope.

So this morning I told him that I was surprised he never took any notice. He said he thought it was private. I mean, we have been living under the same roof for 26 years, and he has never really got me, I guess! I mentioned it to see if he was interested in finding out what the lecturer said.

Nope.

This from a man I once thought was extremely in tune with his feelings, and showed fantastic insight and empathy into others’ emotions. So much so that counsellors have remarked on this. Boy, was I off the mark!

The chat moved along to some other stuff about us. He is always interesting to talk to, but I don’t much anymore about “us,” the affair, or relationship chitchat (lol) as he knows I am out of here in just over two years. We somehow talked about the time he fucked Leanne again, very nearly two years after D-day (he brought it up, not me!) – legitimately – as I had told him we were over, and he had moved out. I realised I never knew that he had stayed the whole night at her house. I mean, I know that he drove all the way up to her house, they bought a takeaway meal and a bottle of wine, and fucked. I knew he told her that they didn’t work and he told me that the sex was APPALLINGLY bad, very much like fucking a dead fish, with no passion, not emotional connection, and that he felt dirty after doing it. Then they talked (hahahaha! Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around???) and she said to him that she needed to know that the door was shut to me, and that she wasn’t ever going to play second best. He replied that although I didn’t want him anymore, and had told him that he made me feel worthless about myself, that in his book, he would NEVER be able to shut the door on me, that I was the love of his life. (Great chat up lines, TOIL, BTW!) And that she would ALWAYS be second best, or even further down the list, as his kids and his farm would rank above her. Cool, love your work! In the morning, he got up, and drove off, and that was the last time he saw her. (She continued to try to “be friends” by texting questions about things we had and where we got them, so she could get them, often for her little boy, ugh, in weird flurries for nearly another year. Until he finally changed his number, realising very belatedly, that yes, Paula knew a thing or two about how to asphyxiate a whore. He was so frustrated that he hadn’t got that when I repeatedly told him that for those three years. “This is how to make it stop. Get a new phone number.”

Hell, no wonder I am getting A+s – super-genius here! (FFS!!!)


16 Comments

Funny. Until shit gets real. (Still funny, even then.)

Read this on my old High School English teacher’s Facebook page (okay, okay, now my cover has been totally blown, I must have been a total geek for my old teacher to have friended me on Facebook – damn!)

I showed TOIL (now my cover is TOTALLY fucked – we went to the same school – SWEAR I didn’t know him. or know that until we met years later) who knew this teacher – he chuckled and nodded. Because it is SO true.

http://www.tickld.com/x/why-men-and-women-think-differently


6 Comments

A baby photo. Or three.

Tempted asked me to post pics of my animal babies. I have been so flat out, I have forgotten to take my phone so I can get any shots, and Lambie is going to a new home this morning. An old friend messaged me desperately last night, her little girl has been patiently waiting for a calf club lamb, and it has been such a mild winter, not so many deaths of ewes (thankfully) around the district. We are a dairying and thoroughbred district, not a sheep one, so us weirdos out on the hills are her last resort. I told her Lambie has not had the special care and attention that a coveted calf club lamb usually does, but her daughter is undeterred. She was vaccinated yesterday – will go to her new home with instructions about her milk bloat – and to keep an eye on her, it took her a good week to overcome that, and only just now on “normal” rations, so she is looking a little unloved and scruffy in my extreme closeup of her face trying to escape the stable I have popped her in to wait for her new mummy.

 

Anyway – very bad photos of the team: Lambie, Louis and Lashes. BIG apologies for the (lack of) quality. Just a glimpse into my morning.

 

2014-09-02 09.07.41Louis20140902_084338