Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Name changes

My daughter just tagged her childhood bestie in a social media post.

She was the youngest of four. We were really great friends with her parents. Our eldest was in between their two close-in-age first and second daughters, and was friends with both, especially the younger of the two.

The third child was a boy, the same age, and our son’s best mate.

A couple of years before my first D-Day, this apparently loved up couple (they were so much fun together, she totally adored him, for sure) suddenly split.

We, their friends, were all super shocked.

Turned out (yawn, how sick of this are we now, people?) Mr was fucking around. Apparently he was a chubby chaser…

Mrs took off for her hometown, the kids were furious, and Mr has little to no contact with them ever since.

The reason I wrote this post is that I see the youngest, my youngest’s friend whom she tagged, has changed her surname to her mother’s.

I’ve always thought it odd that we continue to name our children mostly for their fathers.

When mine were born, I seriously wanted to give them my surname. I just saw so many divorces with deadbeat dads. Who had little to do with their kids. But because Rog had “so graciously” reunited with me, I deferred to his surname for our firstborn.

Don’t get me wrong, there are AMAZING Dads out there. Wonderful, wonderful men. I do know this.

And men who are ‘robbed’ of time with their children by cheating women, etc.

(Dunno how wonderful, but BG messaged his stepdaughter first thing this morning for her birthday. He was her mother’s live out boyfriend for seven years, twenty years ago they started going out. He still stays in their lives. Not like a father, as they have a bio one – who is a meth addict – but as someone who is invested in their lives, cares, and hopes to have some positive input. He loves those kids.)

But so often, the kids stay with, for the larger part of custody, with their mothers.

It just rang true for me. And I’m glad they all have my surname as their middle name. Another link to me.

The pain of cheating fathers is intergenerational. And anyone who denies this has never lived it.


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Working from home

I work in a business that is classified as “essential services” due to the veterinary care and welfare of animals. We are not taking any new admissions, nor letting any horses off the property. It is in full lockdown, with padlocks and ethanol sprays everywhere, gloves, masks and social distancing with no staff in the same area at any one time. Horses are shifted into certain yards, halters and leads off, and dipped in Virkon, next person brings their own halter and lead, to take to the stocks area, etc. The office is out of bounds for all staff except me. We shower in and out. I have a permit to travel to work. But I am only going in on Mondays, so yesterday was my day.

The rest of the time, I am working from “home.” Home for the period of this lockdown being BG’s place, at the beach.

So, after being here since last Tuesday night, 24 hours before lockdown, I left the compound early Monday morning, to commute over to my workplace.

After work, I took a box of gloves and a couple of masks to leave in my Dad’s letterbox, as he is in the over 70s age group that have been directed not to leave their bubble, even for groceries. However online grocery shopping is booked solid. He will need to go out again. At 76, he is pretty youthful, fit and mostly well. I’m not overly concerned for him, more concerned for my 89 year old (also relatively fit and well, but nearly 90!) father in law.

Dad was funny. He is a truly terrible cook. Mostly has avoided it his whole life. He did say, “I am getting bloody sick of my plain cooking!”

I told him about this amazing new invention, Google (bear in mind, we had a home computer from the early 80s – he’s pretty savvy) – “try some new recipes, Dad, there are loads of tasty, simple things you can make.” He looked at me and said, “well, yeah, but I have no spices, etc.” I told him to make a list, and buy some Goddamn spices and seasonings, lol. He laughed and said, “wish I was at yours, your man will be getting spoiled with your amazing cooking, you are your mother’s daughter in that respect, you both know food!”

Yeah, “my man” (ugh) is a happy camper, I am loving having someone to cook for, and the challenge of doing that on what we have pooled together, we haven’t done a food shop yet since lockdown started.

My son was hilariously blunt.

That is his thing.

After I shared this interaction with the kids, his reply…

“All food’s plain when you think a smoked meat pizza is too spicy.”

Yep, that happened after our youngest daughter’s graduation, when we all went out for a bite to eat, and a drink to celebrate, Grandad found the delicious smoked meat pizza, “a bit too spicy for me.”

Speaking of which, the barman was pretty cute. I got this message late in the afternoon…

I have been strict about no dogs on the furniture…he’s ruining her ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

And was greeted like he hadn’t seen me in months on my return, lol.

So, we are doing Naked Work Day today.

I returned from my run along the beach with the dog, showered, and now he is sitting across the kitchen bench from me, we are both on our laptops, working, and both stark naked. I still can’t believe how body confident I am with this man!

I won’t scare you with photos, but he’s pretty cute…

Lucky neither of us has any video conferences scheduled…


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Friends’ adult kids

I met (one of BG’s best mates) Andrew’s eldest daughter, Marina, just before lockdown. 30 years old in a month, and absolutely one of my people.

She was immediately welcoming, we bonded fast, sharing a bottle of wine and a catch up about each other. Apparently, she already knew a bit about me, the fam have talked ๐Ÿ˜‚

After a few hours in her company, she turned to me and said, “I love you and BG together. You just look right. First time I’ve seen him like this. You two are even the right heights!”

(Didn’t know that was a thing! He’s 5’11” and I’m 5’4″.)

I was genuinely touched…and quite embarrassed.

This morning, he rang his Mum, and put me on speaker phone to her. She lives in a retirement home, and they went into lockdown about ten days earlier than the rest of our country. She’s so lovely. And I was surprised and touched that he wanted me to talk with her, too.

We are only days into this total lockdown, but it’s the longest we have ever continuously had in each other’s company. It’s going okay! He hasn’t freaked out at me yet!

I told him about my conversation with Marina on our two hour ‘dog’ walk this morning, and he laughed, “they are all looking out for the BG.”

My reply?

“That is part of what I love about you, this awesome, caring, close knit group of people around you. Their adult kids are genuinely interested in what you’ve dragged in this time.”

He just said, “yeah, I’m pretty lucky, and they are the most important people in my life, too. You are the first person I’ve brought into the inner circle who is totally compatible with them. The others never really fit in, they were accepted and all of that, but you have a shared kind of background, level of education, sense of humour, party vibe, and yet total realness about you. You get them, and they get you. That has never happened before. And part of why I want you in my life, I’ve been looking for this forever.”

Man, getting locked up with this guy is pretty damn lovely, huh?


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Things that trigger

On lockdown, scrolling through my phone, this came up on someone’s silly post, you know, one of those about couples who post a lot about their partner, then split up, and everyone wants to know what happened.

This reply…๐Ÿ’”

Yeah.

This.

I never posted about ‘us’ or Roger very much at all on social media. I don’t about BG either. I try to ensure I have permission from individuals before I plaster images or information about them.

With a couple of exceptions.

I posted a few photos of our trip to Argentina. It was such a special time, I was still hurting, but my perception was that it was a healing trip. Time for just us. To regroup, to go forward.

I looked at the photos recently, and see how hard Rog looks.

I now understand why he asked me on our return to Buenos Aires if I still loved him. My answer was, “yes, of course. I always have, but it has changed shape.”

How can it not? The innocence is gone, that blind trust. That complete adoration. He nearly fucking killed me. Both emotionally, but also physically, not using condoms.

And it makes me feel so sad.

That he never told me he was out.

I was honest to a fault, the entire time we were supposedly “healing” from his disloyalty.

I also look at a gorgeous photo I posted of him on his 50th birthday. It’s one of my favourites, of him at about 25, as groomsman at his cousin’s wedding in Sydney, my haircut, lol.

My words were, through all the intense hurt, “happy birthday to the love of my life, the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

Bear in mind, I don’t do that. Declare shit in public. And this was five years after my first Dday.

Kind?

Fuck.

Sure.

Okay.

He was fucking cruel, the cowardly way he ended it. After I worked my arse off, to heal, and get two first class degrees. I told him I had healed sufficiently to continue to love him, and he’d been secretly internet dating for two bloody years!

I can’t tell you how many times I begged him that whatever he did, to be honest. And NEVER replace me before we split up. Be on your own if you have to leave. Find out who you are, you’ve never been a single guy. You don’t NEED to have someone to stroke your ego.

Be a decent human being.

Yeah, good effort, Paula. That was a fucking waste of breath.

Stay safe everyone. I’m actually kind of enjoying (seems such an inappropriate word) and appreciating lockdown. A time to reset, prioritise, and practice mindfulness.

Yes, it is economically worrying. My investments, and real estate values will crash.

But I am okay. My kids are okay. I am grateful for all the wonderful people I have in my life. For all the gifts I have, and can share with those in need.

Namaste, bitches! ๐Ÿ™


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Educated

It’s funny how intuitive my kids were about what happened between their parents.

This was a big thing they noticed. That as my formal education progressed, their father got shittier and shittier with me.

All of them, separately, talk about how pissed their father got about me studying.

So true. He likes his women dumb and submissive.

Damn. I kinda knew there was a power struggle, and just accepted that as long as he was nice to me, loved me so deeply, it didn’t matter.

What a fucking expensive compromise.


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Happy boi

BG has just told me he’s won the quarantine lotto, lol.

I’ve been cooking, preserving, planting, walking and tidying with him.

After making a batch of homegrown feijoa, chilli and lime chutney, dinner of lamb tagine, making salmon gravlax this morning, and a lunch of snapper ceviche from the fish we caught surfcasting last night (no boating allowed in lockdown) I’ve just whipped up some homemade pรขtรฉ for later.

It makes me happy to cook for not just myself.

He’s laughing, saying, I knew you could cook, but this is fucking insane. I don’t have to live on my mince on toast, and stir fries I would have without you. You’re amazing! How did I get so damn lucky?

Because you are kind, BG.

Yesterday he checked on elderly neighbours, we went and watered his friend Trev’s newly planted hedges and gardens, and chatted with Trev’s elderly neighbour up on his balcony. Is there anything we can do for you? I picked the ripe figs, for the lovely old man across the street from us, and BG delivered (all practising social distancing.) There are still figs to ripen, I will get us some later next week, for more gourmet goodies, I have fresh goats cheese, honey and walnuts ready.

He cares about people, my older dog, is she happy and settled, getting enough (too much, lol) exercise.

Yeah, lucky we are walking my dog twice a day, and I’ve upped my running regime! Have to keep myself supple and light enough for him to lift me to perform the intense shower gymnastics that happened this morning! ๐Ÿ˜œ Holy hell man, I’m not 25 anymore (but he reckons I’ve still got the moves, and I sure surprised myself with my flexibility…) This lockdown lark is downright dangerous! Deliciously so.

Walk? Hang on give my legs (and everything…) a minute to recover, chief!


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Birthday joy

It’s my big girl’s 27th birthday.

This day always comes with such memories. Firstborns are special (ha, can you tell I’m one? ๐Ÿ˜œ)

They are all loved equally, but the memories of that birth wow. Ouch!

20 hours (my shortest labour, as it turned out) an ambulance trip to the base hospital from the birthing unit (alone, in agony on my back, drugged up, continuously vomiting, Rog joined me over there after going home to move stock) for a proposed emergency C section that I refused once admitted… an enormous episiotomy cut through all the scar tissue of my rape repair, what a mess. Yeah, she was hard work bringing into the world.

I am away from home, so this fuzzy image is all I can find on my phone.

All three kids and I had planned to fly down for a fun weekend with her. Her partner’s youngest sister was graduating in the South Island, and he had planned to not be with us as was celebrating with her. Of course, with compulsory lockdown, those plans disintegrated, but she has her little sister and my little dog there to help celebrate. We will all video chat today, and my sister-in-law is holding a virtual 10th birthday party this afternoon for her eldest, whose birthday is on Monday.

I will miss my girl today. Virtual hugs, virtual birthday cake, and loads and loads of love from my East Coast location, down to her West Coast one at the bottom of the island.

Rog and I were apart for the first six months of this pregnancy. He shagged his way around town, while I pined for him in the UK. When I returned, he acted like I was the love of his life. Yeah, right. Apparently that is a mousy widow, not me.

Thank you for making me a Mum, S. Despite all the pain of the life with your lying, cheating father, the gift of the three of you, despite being sub-fertile…no words xxx


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How to upset a man. In one easy step. By me.

Was lying in bed this morning before rising to my computer, in this new world. My isolation bubble of BG and me, feeling all beautifully messy post coital, and I thought I got brave.

To address a thing that happened.

I decided to talk to him about Ingrid’s actions last weekend in coming onto me, and suggesting her, her husband, BG and me make up a merry foursome.

I took a deep breath, heart pounding, and said, “to clarify something I thought about on my way home last weekend, um, well, ahh, Ingrid…”

BG looked at me and intervened, “oh fuck, no, she didn’t! Not again! If this is what I think it is. She did this in front of EVERYONE at Spid’s 50th! No way, she didn’t! What the fuck. Ugh.”

I sat up and stared at him.

“You mean, she has done this to other partners of yours?”

“Oh no, not as far as I know. I’m assuming it was about, oh God, so embarrassing, um, a size thing? She said it at a gathering of my oldest and dearest! Told everyone (Spid’s brother) Trev told her I was massive. In front of everyone, including poor Trev! FFS. I mean, I don’t go around looking at my mates’ cocks!”

I laughed and then said, “well, legend dude! I’ve worked out that her curiosity is the reason she came onto me. It wasn’t about me, she wants the BG experience, and I am the vector to get there.”

He looked at me, and said, “well, that’s bullshit, she thinks you’re sexy AF, told me so, that I am punching with you. You’re well out of my league. But (shudder) I’m not interested in fucking my mate’s wife, or anyone else except you. Gross.”

Then he got a bit weird. Kinda sad. He is really embarrassed. And whilst I think it is quite funny, I totally see his point. Who wants to be reduced to a body part?

I felt bad for bringing it up. I feel like I contributed to his feeling of yuck. Stop thinking of me as a massive dick, people!

Ewww.

It’s funny, when you have so little experience with human penises, you kind of assume owning one, very beautiful, large, symmetrical one that does everything “right” that this is something that feels nice about yourself. I like the size and shape of my old, E cup breasts, for example. Not perfect, no such thing, but having them balances out my curvy bum, and accentuates my small waist. BG’s gift is quite obvious even clothed! He was trying on shorts with me the other day, and I was quietly quite amazed by how prominent that package can be, being stuffed into an area that did not easily accommodate him.

I feel bad that I may have contributed to him feeling like a piece of meat.

Anyway. Day two of total isolation. Here we go. Wonder how else I can offend?

Leave it to me!


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Searing pain

I did see this interview with Sir Bob Geldof when it came out, but just rewatched it.

Oh

Hell

Yeah

The pain of loss of your soulmate/love to another party is excruciating. Unbearable. The way he describes it just ripped me apart.

Because that was/is me. I lost my person. He headed off with someone he thinks is more suited to him.

And I wanted to die.

The agony tears you.

Rips you to shreds.

You try, but there is no beauty left in the world.

I still have moments where I just don’t wanna keep going.

And yes. My only reason for still being here is exactly the same as his.

The children.

And only them.

โค๐Ÿ’”๐Ÿ’”๐Ÿ’”


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Quarantine activities

I grabbed my first harvest of feijoas before bugging out.

I am gonna do a batch of chilli, lime and feijoa chutney today, between my work slots.

Made ham and barley soup and a feijoa and coconut loaf yesterday.

Whoah. Lots of running planned…

What are you doing to stay sane if you are self isolating?