Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


For those who don’t understand the nature of grief

Grief is such a difficult beast. I am slowly rebuilding a completely new and different life to the one I worked for and believed in.

But the grief is overwhelming, still.

This expresses it perfectly. I understood grief about death. Sudden loss.

But never expected this to be worse, harder. The loss of love due to multiple infidelities.

I just keep striving to move forward, pushing off against the weight of the intense grief.


Whirlwind Christmas

The barman decided to drive over on Christmas Eve.

And once he arrived, he freaked out about taking up family space. That he’d crashed my family Christmas. But, as I said, I wasn’t expecting him, but had invited him.

I had 10 of us in my three bedroom home. It was wonderfully cosy, and some of my adult kids got to sleep camp style on the lounge room floor, and couches.

BG and myself did the sober driving mission, picking up my son, G, and his mate, E, after a night out in our old town.

They were hilarious. G is the kid I have worried about regarding his drinking, but his mate, E, was far more drunk, and the banter was really funny. G thanked me seven times on the 40 minute drive home for picking them up. E told me all about a girl G was seeing, told on his mate wonderfully, lol. BG was just fabulous.

It’s what mothers do. He had an awesome night, catching up with childhood friends.

And having BG there took my mind off Roger’s and my Christmas Eve tradition, whereby he would come home a bit drunk from the pub as I would be playing Santa, stuffing things into the kid’s sacks, and he’d waltz me ’round the Christmas tree to Fairytale of New York, by The Pogues.

Hardly the most romantic lyrics, but for some reason, it used to melt me completely.

It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won’t see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I’ve got a feeling
This year’s for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true
They’ve got cars big as bars
They’ve got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It’s no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can’t make it all alone
I’ve built my dreams around you
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells are ringing out
For Christmas day

Christmas Day dawned, and we had a superb champagne breakfast with my blueberry buttermilk pancakes, maple syrup, homemade croissants, salmon, bacon and home laid eggs.

We exchanged gifts, and the kids decided not to take the BBQ and kayaks to the lake, as thunderstorms were predicted. Instead, we had a really beautiful BBQ lunch at home, and it meant I could relax a little and have a couple of glasses of bubbles, no longer being required to drive.

BG bought me some gorgeous rose quartz earrings, and I had thrown together a small Santa sack for him. Earlier, I had tried to buy him a shirt to go in it, but realised that after buying every single item of clothing that Roger owned, for thirty years, I have completely lost my confidence. What if he hated it?

So, no clothing was bought…

A really odd thing has started happening. BG has just started photographing me a lot.

To be honest, it makes me a bit uncomfortable, I’m not happy in front of a camera, and I wonder if it is his way of trying to “make up” for the many, many photos of him and Chrissy that came up on his big screen a few weeks ago. I woke on Boxing Day, and he started taking photos of me all hair astray, lying in bed.


Anyway, I’m going with it for now, will talk about it if it gets too weird.

We rose, showered and started primping for the posh race day. I got to wear the lovely designer dress that was remade for me by the designer, thinking she needed to fit it to my curves better. And an old hat, that I had made for when our horse was entered in the NZ Cup a few years ago. Gold heels, BG’s earrings, and we were away.

We met Susie, her brother and sister-in-law, and their friend and my other vet friend and her team, two tables on the champagne lawn. BG decided we needed selfies 😱. So, I obliged.

Susie will not need to keep her distance, she’s proven herself to be an incredible friend!

Eight bottles of champagne later at our table, I wobbled out to the Uber into the city.

I later discovered he had posted to Facebook. Oh God, I hate photos. Facebook official, I guess (we don’t do that…)

The biggest shock to me (other than the cajillion likes, I think BG’s friends are happy he is with someone, lol) was that his ex partner’s sister made the first gorgeous comment about seeing him so happy. Naw. She wouldn’t have known about me until then, I guess. I got told that her sister and brother were very supportive of BG after their sister treated him like shit, lied, and traded him in for a younger model.

We headed into the city, and enjoyed dinner at a popular spot. Eventually, we made our way back to our hotel, BG impressed and protective of my stamina, all day in super high stilettos 🀣.

The next day, we arranged to meet with his godfather’s widow, who is in town, visiting her brother, from overseas.

What a total delight she is. I have been impersonating her, so it was time we met, lol. She gets her husband’s life membership tickets to the racecourse we attend from time to time, so gives them to BG. We use all the privileges that accompany those, and I thanked her profusely. She was just glad they were being used by appreciative people. He drove us around West Auckland, where both of them grew up, and shouted us a beautiful lunch. BG had told me I look a bit like her. I think the red hair was about the only thing, to be honest!

Then we e-scootered to meet his friends at a city pub. I got him to download the app, his first time scootering, and he is hooked.

We ended up at his mates’ city apartment partying and talking bullshit until 3am.

I love this couple. As the night went on, I got some more insight into their love story, with the husband, Andy, telling us how he first saw Imogen, working somewhere where he was sure she was a lesbian (lol, I used to get told that by Rog, a lot, too.) But he thought she was hot. She is. Not in an obvious way, but utterly beautiful skin and softly intense hooded blue eyes. They got together three years later. Rog used to tell the story of first spying me as a 15 year old, waitressing, and he thought I was pretty gorgeous, I guess. We never met properly for another five years.


Andy and Imogen are pretty crazy. And I can see, still madly in love after 22 years.

Then they talked about scent. How scent is so important to attraction.

Oh. Hell. Yeah! I loved how Rog smelled. Sitting beside him at our daughter’s graduation was a special kind of olfactory hell. He smells incredible.

To be fair, so does the barman. Just gorgeous. It’s not about manufactured scent. Natural pheromones mostly. But men who smell great because they care about their personal hygiene, are seriously attractive too. I do have to talk to him about a certain fragrance he has in his bathroom. Is my old favourite of Roger’s. I haven’t smelled it on BG yet, but best he doesn’t wear it, around me, I think.

All of it was triggering, and my heart (and belly) ached badly with the pain of it all. Andy and Imogen were what I thought Rog and I were.

But obviously, I was wrong.

BG was gorgeous, and told me later, as we walked back to the hotel, that he worries about their bickering. I told him I saw it as their passion. That passionate, strong personalities are often like that, but that the love shines through it all to me. They are just temporarily out of water, house sitting for his daughter.

I got told by Imogen that she is so thrilled to have me around. We are good together, and her words were, “Smith is such a total babe, my favourite person, after Andy, and his friends have been hoping he finds someone, forever. He deserves it, and you are the best thing, the most sanely insane, amazing woman I have seen him with. You have so much sparkle, it radiates out of you!”

(Oh, lord. Roger’s sparkle comments. That he’d made me lose my sparkle.)

Naw, but, isn’t she gorgeous?

He insisted we go into a club across the street from our hotel, where we got a drink and danced for another hour, before finally falling into bed around 4.15am. He looked at me on the way home, arm linked in mine and said, “you are the most amazing, bundle of loving care I have ever met. I’ve never known a woman like you.” This followed a conversation the day before that basically outlined that if Roger hurt me again, BG had my back. (I did tell him I appreciated that, but felt it made me sound like I needed rescuing. I’m not a damsel in distress…)

Shit. That meant I had the balls to admit ILY later that night to him, and guess what? Nothing like that in return. He just said, “I’m worried about that, because it’s all you know. To waste your love on unsuitable men, like me.”

Ah fuck. What? Am I that bad a judge? Chump Lady talks about fixing your picker. I felt mine was finely tuned. That I mindfully, and purposely, chose an incredibly emotionally intelligent man, in Rog.

But got it so wrong.

So, am I that bad a judge of character?

Is BG just finding this all very nice, and convenient. Are his, “you’re too good to me’s,” just his way of saying, protect yourself more, girl.

I dunno. I have no idea how to do this life.


Liars calling liar

Short post.

Lovely time yesterday at the races. Susie, who comes with me to this meeting every year, on the champagne lawn, told me that Roger tried to line her up at D’s 21st saying something like, don’t believe all Paula says – called me a liar, basically. That fucks me off so much.

She said to him, fuck off Rog, I was there, and saw it all, and advised you to be good to the mother of your children, that you’d regret throwing her away.

Sorry, just had to vent.

Love you all so much xxx


Another one bites the dust

Another friend, with a previously cheating husband (seven years ago) has just messaged me to let me know he is back at it. Her 20+ year marriage is over.

The familiar story. Same record as Roger’s. He told the AP that the marriage was over.

Again, the wife did not get that memo.

Just like me.

I believed – like my friend, who is in counselling from the last infidelity rodeo – that we were working on us.

Nope. These guys are just using us as placeholders.

Her story is similar in some ways. Her husband has also never been single. Roger same. Just overlap them all.

This woman has sass to burn, and even she is scared. Knows it is over, but bargaining. She asked me if I defended Rog.

Hell yeah! I can remember a few months after DDay, a friend (originally of Roger’s) asking me why I stayed with a man who cheated long term.

My answer was, “well, it was a stressful time (because he sold my home from under me) and I started drinking a bit much, he started fucking other people.” Like they were the same thing.


She asked me for tips about how to get through. How to stop the shaking. What should she do. She is in shock.

I don’t know. I focused on my children. I tried to be proactive (talked to a lawyer, tried to reason with the OW, started planning what the hell I was going to do for a living, where in the world I was going to live.)

This is seriously underestimated in the world. We talked about how you think once you’ve survived the first affair (that we know of) that if it happens again, you will just walk away.

It isn’t like that. I was so embarrassed that I still desperately loved him. And stayed, being used and abused. Sex, the intimacy of cuddles and foot rubs, cooking and doing his laundry. This is not who I thought I was. But I did all of that.

While he commuted to fuck a widow. It broke my already shattered heart.

My friend talked about that. That she is devastated. But never felt the kind of epic love I did. They were in love, but not the kind of deep bond and emotional connection I felt for Roger. Still do. But not for this man who still walks this earth, with his widow, today. My love is for a man who may have never existed. Because there is no way I could have knowingly caused him this kind of life threatening pain.

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So, the barman came over to me on Saturday, after catching up with old friends and acquaintances at the memorial service for the old friend and employee who was tragically killed on Whakaari, during the recent explosive eruption. He says his friends all expected me to go. I did think about it, but had work, was not asked, and felt it might be a bit tacky, considering I never met the deceased, and it was followed closely by the national media. I did tell him he is allowed to ask me if he wants support at such times.

I had hitched up my trailer, and off we headed, to my lake house. I have the kids coming for Christmas, and we have decided to do a very casual BBQ lunch and take the kayaks to my local hydro lake for a chill afternoon of BBQ, bubbles, food and sun.

So, my mission was to go to the bach, to retrieve the kids’ kayaks for this purpose.

I have not stayed there in over eighteen months. It is too hard. That space we built out of love, that he kept taking other women to, to fuck. The house he used to bring Leanne to, with me sometimes (yeah, I know, how sick is THAT???) and the house that I took Leanne to for girls’ weekends, because, you know, when I asked him if he was fucking his ex girlfriend, he denied, and kissed me hard, held me closely, telling me I was amazing, and that not many women would trust their partner to have a close relationship with their ex, but that I had always been such a low maintenance, chill partner, that he loved only me.

Yeah, that old chestnut.

Go me, huh? I sure drank the KoolAid.

Anyway, I took BG down there. We arrived around 6pm.

And, I could immediately tell he was a bit anxious about being there. I asked if he was okay? Yes, fine. We took the dogs for a walk, and I showed him the village. He loved how beautiful and quiet it was.

When we got back, I popped a marinated chicken in the oven, which we ate with polenta and salad.

Later that night, after watching a movie, we had a bath. Our first ever together. My place is full of people, and he doesn’t have a bath. So, it was luxurious, and turned into a very vigorous session…

After we stopped blowing so hard from all the “exercise,” he said, “have you changed the linen on that bed?”

And, I looked at him and said yes, but we don’t have to sleep there – I never have since…

The relief on his face was palpable.

He said, YES! Any other bed would be preferable.

He gets it.

He said later that night, I dunno how you have kept this place. It’s full of you, all the stuff here is you. You built it, you loved it, and SHE comes here and enjoys it???

I looked at him, my heart lurching. He gets it. How the homes are imbued with emotion and affect. That people’s nefarious actions tainted my sense of safety within those walls.

Yeah. Trinket, that woman who butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, came here before I ever knew about her. She knew about me, came into my homes, fucked my love. And I had no idea.

She fucking knew. That I loved him, was dedicated to him.

And she wanted him, so fuck you old partner, off you fuck! My turn now.

BG held me, kissing my face and hair.

“I hate that they did this to you. And for myself, I hate that we’re here, where he did with you in that bed, what I just did with you. (Um, no, he never did THAT with me lol πŸ€£πŸ†,) I mean, we’re grownups, and we have histories, past lovers. You less than me, because you are so loyal, and I just never seemed to meet the right person. I’ve never cheated on anyone, but I’ve been cheated on, and it sucks. I didn’t have thirty years, kids, businesses, a lifetime. And it still ripped me to pieces. How you have dealt with this is amazing really.

And I said, “I didn’t see you again last year because I was not being amazing. I was hurting – so much, you’ll never know the depths of how I have been completely ripped apart by what they did. You don’t need to know. But I am not amazing. I’ve just survived as best I can. These other women can’t win. They can’t destroy me, I have to survive, and then try to thrive.

Whoah! Who fed Paula the truth serum? Put it down and walk away, girl!

So, the next day, he helped me mend the fence, and we decided to take the scenic route home up the other side of the lake.

As we were driving, he talked about L. Asked me how she is. I let him know that she found more emails from the OW after they were supposed to go no contact.

BG, “men, they’re kind of just arseholes really, eh?”

I laughed. “Well, plenty of women cheat, too.” To which he replied, “sure, Marty’s (his best mate) first wife did it. But I reckon men are dumb. They always get caught.”

I laughed again, “maybe. But your Dad never did, for 30 years. And Roger never did for 18 months. No one knew he was fucking Leanne. His best mate was shocked.”

And, after a really, really good fresh pizza (I’m not generally a pizza fan, but this was amazing) a rosΓ© and a beer, he started taking photos of me. WTF?! I don’t do photos. I am not a photogenic person.

And frankly, I was a bit triggered. It was too weird.

Those photos on his hard drive of Chrissy…

My doggos, however were just fine with me photographing them by the lake.

I drove for the first time. It’s so nice having someone drive you. He read his newspaper, and napped a bit. The chat on the way home was about jealousy. How I just don’t freak out that there might be other women, seeing as we live apart.

I told him that was probably how I got cheated on so often. I trust. It’s not my job to monitor a partner’s behaviour. If you wanna cheat, how is me stalking you from a couple of hours away gonna stop that?

He agreed. And I asked if he trusted me.

“With my life. You just come across as so genuine, so unlike most of the women I’ve known.”


Yeah, I know. But then there is this very, very hurt and traumatised girl he’ll probably never really see.

Be kind, people.

Be kind TO other people.

Don’t ever make the kind of selfish choices like Trinket and Roger have, that agonise and (re)traumatise loyal, loving partners.

Be kind to yourself.



Stranger than fiction

Is there anything stranger than having your children home, and the second man I have ever been sexually intimate with – in other words, not their father, whom I loved so deeply, and never in a million years thought would leave me for another woman – sharing your bed???

Honestly, this life is so challenging and bizarre. It kinda freaks me out.

All three of the kids have asked if BG is going to be with us for Christmas, and are deciding what to buy him.

How cute are they?

He is planning on spending the day with his mum, one of his sisters and her large family. He knows he is welcome at mine. We are doing BBQ lunch and kayaking at my local lake, a very relaxed day planned.

BG is worried my kids might feel that they won’t want him around.

That he’s not family.

Which could not be further from the truth, as they all say they are very happy he is around, that he treats me well, and that I am still maintaining my independence and protecting myself. A totally different story to how they feel about the woman who decided it was okay to fuck their father, a partnered man, even after she was told (by me) that we were not separated.

Anyway, need to share my very interesting weekend with you all, ASAP. I had to go to the lake house to retrieve the kayaks for Christmas Day. My first time overnight there in over 18 months, shudder 😱😱😱

Just need to find the time to write!



Just had a very weird conversation with an old friend.

One who sat quietly, not judging. An old school friend of Roger’s, a darling woman.

As she said, so, he’s such a great guy, right? How did anyone know what he did to you, over and over? Did they live your life? Were they told they were loved and cherished, then he kept lying and cheating? Did they get STIs from him and fight cancer from the HPV like a boss?

Yeah. Exhale.

Christmas is hard.

But, we can do hard things πŸ’ͺπŸ’š

And look at my pupper. How can you not smile?



My friend L messaged me this morning.

She hasn’t kicked her (repeat offender) cheater out.


Christmas, kids coming home, promises and remorse from the repeat offender.

He’s still receiving emails from the AP.

Wow, I can see you are all as surprised (NOT) as I was.



I asked her:

  • Did he tell you, or did you find this?
  • Have you – or preferably him! – made the appointment with the couples counsellor?
  • Is he still acting secretively?
  • Do you want to be the marriage police
  • Is he likely to be open and honest going forward?

The answers were:

  • I found the email (hmmm 🚩🚩🚩)
  • No appointment made, but I contacted the person suggested, and they are full and have referred me on (hmmmm 🚩🚩🚩)
  • He was up during the night, in the bathroom, with his phone (πŸš©πŸš©πŸš©πŸ””πŸ””πŸ””)
  • Hadn’t thought of it that way πŸ€·β€β™€οΈ
  • Probably unlikely.

She’s smoking the hopium pipe. I gently pointed this out and showed her back to the path.

Don’t be me. Don’t forgive again, and lose what little self respect you may still be clinging to. By all means, get counselling. But ASAP. Counselling may be what helps you see he is never going to change. I got suggested love addiction was at play by one of the best couples therapists in our country, and Rog never followed up on that.

But, then again, neither did I.

At the time, we separated for a few weeks. So I lost track of his journey, whilst trying to readjust mine.

Don’t be like Paula.


Oh, please don’t break me again

I’m hurting.

Gee, that’s new, huh?

Yesterday was the local race meeting that Roger and I met at.

I deliberately avoided it because I knew there would be tears.

Instead, I drove over to BG’s beach town, to go to his staff and club committee Christmas dinner after work.

That man! He’s pretty damn precious actually.


I don’t wanna fall again and get hurt all over again. I don’t think I would survive it.

I know I have to be vulnerable, but hell, it hurts.

Anyway, a really lovely night. He introduced me to the committee, hesitantly using the word “partner” for the first time in NZ, to people we know. Then looked at me grinning, saying, “oh shit, is that okay?” I winked and said, “I’ve been called worse, I guess!”

And, he was BUSY. Looking after over 100 people, all winding down (up?) for Christmas, no time for himself.

I chatted away to people. Notably, to start with, the lovely older female staff (including Rangi, the stunningly beautiful – inside and out – 86 year old club hostess.)

But, BG mentioned later that I was mostly chatting with the men.

I’ve always got on better with men. I think I feel comfortable, growing up with only brothers, and my best mates were guys. I am one of the lads, never feel any sexual tension, I don’t flirt or play like some victim woman who needs rescuing. Sadly, I find some women can be awfully competitive and bitchy.

I chatted with Richard, a sweet local business owner, and committee member, for a good long while. He’s 55, and admitted to some serial online dating, recently breaking up with a nice woman from a town near me. His wife did to him after 30 years, what Roger did to me. He looked at me, said, “no way, you’re not old enough!” I assured him I was certainly well over 50, and he declared, “wow! What a fool that man must be. You’re so cool.” Cute, but hey, as I said, he and I had no say. You have to somehow keep moving. He wobbled a bit and said, “yeah. We do. I still don’t get it, and it’s been seven years. We’d been together since we were 17, and I never wanted a divorce. Still love her.”

Ah shit. Feelz, bro.

He then said, “you’ve got one of the really good guys there. BG is really caring and is turning this club around. Have so much respect for him. How did you meet?”

He asked me how long I’d known BG for, how long I was single for. I told him, and said I wasn’t looking, did not want another relationship (he admits, as a man, he hated singledom and desperately internet dated, chatted, etc, right away, trying to fill the void. And says he’s hopeless alone, wants to share his life with someone special.) He moved to the beach, into their holiday home during the divorce. And loves the town. Weirdly, he used to sell real estate in my town, so knew my property well.

Man. Infidelity and divorce are traumatic for so many of us.

As Boudicea wrote, on CrazyKat’s blog, the timeline and misunderstanding of the pain and trauma caused by infidelity is extra difficult to bear.

And if we don’t “recover” quickly enough…? Well, welcome to my life. I recall so clearly being determined to beat the 2-5 year “guideline,” and feeling like such a gigantic loser/failure when I didn’t.

Of course, Roger never sought counselling nor knowledge about why he did what he did, he kept in touch with Leanne, he didn’t change his phone number, he fucked her again at the two year mark, he continued to lie and keep secrets, he was chatting to women online for at least two years prior to me knowing about Trinket.

Betrayal and lies really are deadly. The loyal partner is profoundly and permanently affected.

Back to BG. He made lovely, funny, personal speeches about those receiving, whilst giving out the gifts.

Then he and I went into the kitchen to do the dishes for the team. It’s been a while since I was in a commercial kitchen, and the dishwasher was awesome. He was stunned I helped. But, hey, that’s who I am. I told him I worked part-time for a catering firm from 14 until I left high school, waitressed at uni at a high end restaurant in the southern city I went to uni in – interestingly enough, the same physical place, but a completely new restaurant, that we went to as a family to celebrate my son’s graduation earlier in the year – and know my way around a kitchen. (Roger tells a story about seeing me at about 15 or 16 while I was working at a wedding he attended, and lusting after me. I have no recollection of him, can’t remember meeting him until some years later, lol.)

BG’s a bit over it all. The staff started getting a bit drunk and rowdy, and he and I started gently herding them towards shuttles.

One of his older female staff, a gorgeous, but fragile looking woman, looked terrible. I put my arm around her, asked if she is okay, and she answered quietly, “no.”

I took her out of sight of her bully husband – he of the alcoholic nose, and controlling manner – hugged her and asked if there was anything I could do to help. She thanked me and I gave her my phone number. To call anytime if she needed anything.

Then ensured she was safely on the shuttle home. I hope she’s okay.

Shit. People have some tough stuff going on, huh?

Then, his 28 year old events co-ordinator and I got chatting. Hilariously, we discovered she went to my high school, and she is the niece of my cousin’s husband!

(Hear those banjos playing, anyone? Such a bunch of inbred hillbillies, us!)

Anyway, we got everyone out, much to BG’s relief. He was getting antsy about drunk people leaving the club. Not a good look. Not his standards. His licence and reputation is at stake.

And when we got home, I could see his stress slowly peel off him.

He is seriously questioning his life right now. I think I may have thrown him up a gear. Just by turning up in his life right now.

Go me 😭

He admitted the job in the nearby city that he has been considering, doesn’t work for him. It would be a step backwards.

And is still discussing career options.

Then, he surprised me completely by sharing very candidly, his latest medical results. This is new. And quite intimate, I feel.

He’s got some stuff going on. And knows his lifestyle is not helping. I just said, “there’s some good stuff in there, and you can work on the rest. Are you asking for my help?”

“Yes, I guess I am, and just letting you know what a lemon you have got involved with. I’m sorry.”

I replied that I can encourage and support. We are active, but he eats too much, and too much of it is white. I also said I’m happy to help you make healthier choices, but I’m not your mother, and don’t relish being the food police. You know what you need to do, and I’m 100% on board, and you know that is how I cook.

Anyway, that aside, I was kinda surprised at him discussing that with me in that context.

As I got up, showered to leave for work this morning, he made me a cuppa, and sat holding me close, as I sipped it.

This morning was a tough goodbye. Don’t know why. But he held on tight.

I know there is stuff going on. He has the memorial service for his friend and ex-employee who was killed in the recent Whakaari/White Island eruption tomorrow, and that is tough. I’m sure he’s feeling emotional about that, and he said it made him sad that he won’t be with me.

I think he’s scared of this, but wants it too. It’s such a hard thing. To let your guard down and actually feel something.



I sold a couple of wether lambs to a friend, out of the paddock on Sunday.

As we were loading them on her horse float, the first one loaded charged me as I was popping the second in.

Not unexpectedly.

I braced against the charge, and caught him on my (twice broken) nose and my left (also twice broken) wrist was jammed in the doorway.

At first, a bit of blood out of the nostril. No drama.

Then I felt my wrist. Oh shit, might have broken it again. BG grabbed me and said, “broken? Ice, girl.”

It isn’t broken, but badly, deeply bruised. The swelling is something else, and the skin is slowly blackening.

One of his employees saw it yesterday, and told him to go easy on the restraints. To be careful with the fragile woman in the bedroom.

Oh god. Again with the nymphomaniac assumptions 😱.

We are obviously in a small town with very little to gossip about other than the single guy who has lived there for four years. And he says they probably all thought he was gay until I showed up.

And apparently, I look like a right goer.

Jesus. Who thought this would be white, middle class mother of three me, in my 50s?

Not me. Not ever. I picked my guy, and we were gonna be in love forever. He was my life partner, was supposed to protect me at all costs, worry about my wellbeing as much as I did his. I viewed him as my greatest ally, who would always be there for me when I was hurt, or hurting.

I always had his best interests at heart.

Instead, he protects a beige mouse he has no life history with. He loves her more than he ever loved me. Gave up everything we had, to be with her, not me. He prefers a woman who did not cook and clean for him his entire adult life. Did not birth his children. Did not renovate homes with her (yet….) Did not work alongside her for decades, through rain, mud, frost, etc.

Never in a million years did I think he’d be the cause of the most monumental pain, and that I would be dealing with all of this alone. God, I loved that man.

Where the hell does love just vanish to, for some people? Wish I had the key to that box, where you dispose of love, make it nonexistent.

I loved (ugh, bloody well still do) the man I believed he was – the illusion – more than I thought it was possible to love anyone.

Now I’m labelled Ms 50 Shades …

Ah well, might as well go with it 🀣