Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


What if I’ve got this wrong?

What if BG isn’t who I think he is?

What if this is all another giant fuck up?

I should have stayed away from men. I’m not good at this. I feel too much.

I don’t want to.

And I have kept myself held away, to a degree, to stay safe.

But I’m not safe now. I’m feeling too much.

And that is unsafe. Fucking achy and terrified.

I read back through some old, loving messages between Roger and myself, even after Trinket.

He was so damn convincing. All that I love you shit. My brain was trained to think that was real.

Trinket will be getting those loving messages now. That was me, when I was the target of his love addiction 😭😭😭

BG tells me he loves me.

But not often.

Roger did all the time, and despite me knowing it was all bullshit, my brain kinda expects it.

Fuck trauma 💔


The terminally single man

We had a truly fabulous weekend. Kinda boring, but relaxing, bonding, sweet, lovely.

BG arrived at mine on Friday, and let the dogs out for a run before I got home from work, after a day out of the office, playing golf with mates at a course closer to me.

We had a delicious, quiet night, and did loads of farm chores on Saturday.

Saturday night was simple. Just me cooking him a Scotch fillet, snuggled up all cosy on the couch in front of the fire, dogs at our feet. My huntaway just ADORES BG.

Sunday was his birthday, so a sleep in, and I made him blueberry buttermilk pancakes, coffee and had a wee present opening session (the first birthday I have spent with this lovely man) interrupted by BG’s beautiful, 86 year old māmā phoning and singing her baby boy happy birthday.

Naw. Chills.

The phone calls flooded in from family and friends, and once I had fed all the animals, I suggested two options for the day. A day over at the other coast, with a bushwalk, beach time and some good food and wine, or a day teaching me to play golf, followed by a drink at the nearby historic pub.

This was risky.

The pub was Roger and my local.

The place he used to tell me he was going to when he was really meeting Leanne to fuck her at the back of our farm…


It went really well. On the way there, we were talking, and I can’t recall what prompted this, but at one point, he wrinkled his nose, flashed those dimples at me (swoon) and shook his head.

We were driving towards my old home.

The farm where my life imploded.

Then he started to say something like, “I need to be careful, because I could easily punch … that fucker …” And I asked him what he meant. “I just, ahh, that guy, knocking you out because you finally called him out on a lie…”

I just smiled, and said, “it is what it is. The past happened. And it showed me how determined he was to keep lying, keep seeing this other woman.”

Internally, I thought, so determined, he refused to admit he had her in my house, EVEN THOUGH I HAD A LEGAL LETTER PROHIBITING HER FROM BEING IN MY HOMES! So determined, he knocked me out when I insisted he admit to it. He lied and lied and lied, looking at me with pure hatred.

He hated me, and all I had ever done was love him.

BG held my hand tightly as he drove, until we stopped for coffee.

A stunning day, BG was really patient and helpful. Only one air shot, and two slices, I actually mostly hit the ball really well.

And Jesus, can that man hit a golf ball!

Then, we went to my hometown. As we went there, I took him to the farm I grew up on. And that was insane. The driveway was so overgrown…I haven’t driven down that road in over a decade. And it was the second time I had in 35 years.

So weird.

I was kinda worried I would run into some locals in the hometown, and feel uncomfortable.

Even driving into the town I grew up in, then later returned to, and raised my children in, was so very odd.

So much has changed.

And not a single person I knew was in the most popular bar in town.

Onto my local racing bar, in my current town, a few bets, and we trebled our $50.

BG is my lucky charm.

We often win. I’m not, and have never been a gambler. But I have had a few flutters with him. We turned $50 into over $2000 on our first dirty weekend, in Brisbane in a casino at 4am! Every time he takes me out and we bet, we come home ahead.

He even got me into the sharemarket during lockdown. And I am 10% ahead. He is 35% up!

Then, I took him out to my local cafe for dinner, and when we got home, he said he’d had the very best day.

I had wanted to have a weekend at mine, with his friends, but he just wanted quiet. Me. So sweet.

As we were feeding stock, he looked at my pile of sticks, waiting to bonfire, and he asked if he could invite them over soon, and have a late birthday bonfire party weekend.

Oh. Hell. Yeah.

Let’s do that.

In related news, my brother is struggling. Again. The rollercoaster of unwanted divorce.


He had to go down to the city where he owns a house with the wife who is divorcing him. To prepare it for sale.

He messaged to say it was so very hard. Tipped him over.


I know.

Honestly, if you had told me that three years after Roger just completely discarded me, I would still feel so much grief, DESPITE knowing and being with a totally delicious, kind, fun man, I would have thought you were completely insane.

This stuff is unbelievably overpowering.

And I have all the feels.

Especially since BG sent me an uncharacteristic message. After a huge Monday, work has gone ballistic, way way earlier than usual in the breeding season.

This terminally, comfortably single man, at 55.

But lonely? That’s a first.

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Milestones and broken hearts

Today has been busy.

BG woke up with me, and we made oh so urgent love.


So damn good!

It felt like a very long week without each other.

It’s weird, we’ve taken this thing very slowly, the distance is hard, but good for us, I think. We are only just now starting to feel a bit of the beginnings of true intimacy. I dunno. It’s so different from the instant, exploding fireworks of how it was for me with Roger, the cheater. I knew I needed time and “slow,” and I think BG knew that somehow. He gave me the time and space I needed. I never wanted another relationship anyway.

We showered and went to my local farmers market. He bought me charity daffodils and cooked me breakfast with the produce, and my free range eggs when we got home.

Such a sweetheart.

We then fed stock, and he pitchforked the last fertiliser bag full of silage off my trailer and helped me put the extremely heavy stock crate back on it.

L rang me urgently. She is at her lake house with her kids, readying it for sale, as part of her divorce from her serial cheating husband. He knew they were not home, and messaged to say he wanted to go and pick up his golf clubs from her (‘their’) house. L wanted me there to ensure he didn’t bring his whore into her home – like Roger did his whores, Leanne and Trinket, and I have strong evidence of at least two others, ugh – or take anything else. We just missed him, but he did go in to the house, even though the golf clubs were in the garage.


After that, BG drove me out about 45 minutes away, to an Angus stud breeder Roger’s family know, and I brought 30 bales of hay home.

I am overstocked, and my cattle need a bit more supplementary feed before the spring growth hits, properly and I am nearly out of my homegrown hay.

Then we went back to L’s, to pick up my weaner heifers. My neighbour has a paddock of grass for them, and they are so quiet, my hand reared sweeties, they just climbed onto the trailer when I put some feed there for them, so cool!

It is exactly two years today since I sent BG the only message I ever did, off the dating app I joined for one day, out of sheer curiosity. How fucking crazy is that???

I keep looking for the red flags I missed with Roger (early cheating, fake remorse, love bombing, etc) and they just are not there.

What am I missing???

He lives alone, and is happy doing so. He lets me know when things are a bit tough, but never whinges. He is an open book with his phone, etc. Has always answered even difficult questions immediately, and it would appear, honestly. He has bragged to his best friends, who he has known since boarding school days, about my academic achievements, “she’s a published author, you know,” (cringe, but pretty sweet.)

At the moment, during this little self doubt storm, he says he’s happier here. With me. My sweet boy. His work has been super stressful, he is full of all the self doubt again. Worrying about his strategic plan, and his ally, the Treasurer, resigning, and a new, unknown one being appointed on Friday.

But, man, he is good for my soul.

He tells me regularly that I’m beautiful. Sexy. Too good to him. And I looked at him this morning, during our lovemaking session, and just said, “that last girl, she was such a damn fool to let you go. Her loss, my gigantic gain.”

He told me today something he hadn’t shared before, but that I had suspected. When we were going to L’s.

Chrissy, his ex, the only woman he admits to really loving, cheated.

And he took her back, believing her lies, that she loved him, and had changed.

Of course, she cheated again. They nearly always do.


No wonder he gets me. And is gentle with my still severely broken heart. He hasn’t fixed it. That is not his job. I know I will always carry this injury that Roger inflicted. It is a very painful part of who I am today.



I think my boy, BG, is suffering from a bit of the winter blues.

He is a positive, upbeat person.

You know, the kind of Robin Williams personality, that underneath feels things too deeply, overthinks the crap out of life.

He’s aware of it, and practices mindfulness and gratitude.

But I think he’s pretty flat. Like many of us during this pandemic, managing 38 people in hospo, and at the end of winter…it’s been hard.

So, it’s his birthday on Sunday. I think I need to celebrate. Just gently. He says he just wants me, no one else. No bells or whistles…

I’m feeling it too. It’s been a tough winter. My sheep have gone silly and I have dozens of lambs, and they are eating me out of house and home…hay, silage, lots of feeding of my stock. Hoping that spring growth kicks in soon! Roger always called the 10th of September Magic Day. When the grass growth really kicks off.

Everything in my life always comes back to how I lived it with him. My entire adult life was about him.

And I meant nothing. Zero. Zilch. He just fucked around on me…traded me in.


Misplaced loyalty

My friend, T, talks about the fear after an affair, of them doing it again.

Oh. Hell. Yeah.

It fucks with your head. Is he changed? Am I wasting my youth on a toxic, secretive, STI bearing liar?


Well, that worked out well for me, huh? Giving him another chance.

He just got better at lying. More secretive and cunning.

I rarely recommend staying, but hell, I had one of those rare unicorns, right? He loved only me, right? Just had slippery footing and kept falling into strange vag!

Poor dear. He needed more nurturing.

No. He needed to have been left the first time.

Or the second.

Et cetera.

I still can’t fully grasp why I didn’t let him – insist on – him packing his bag that night that Leanne told me they’d been fucking.

Especially when he tried to play it down to “once or twice.”

Over eighteen months? Gosh, lift your game, Leanne. Once or twice in that period was never going to get you that diamond ring you asked him for.

Or that wedding dress you bought, used.

Yeah. She asked him for a ring.

Yeah, she bought a wedding dress…

That was just them “having fun,” okay?

Imagine. Wasting thirty years…


The heart wants what the heart wants. And other bullshit justifications

When I first found out about Trinket, I tried to play nice.

Convinced once she realised that Rog was lying to her, that we were NOT separated, that we still shared a bed, and a life, that I had no idea about his supposed ‘singledom,’ she would back off, realising she’d been played.

Used as a tool by him to ‘escape’ the awfulness of me.


She even sent me a message one day, saying, ‘well, if you had not decided to stay living together…’ like it was my fault he had played me! Like I should leave my own damn house!

The one he brought her to. My own home! Riiiiiight. Take my life. My love. And turf me into the street. What a trinket she is.

I thought we were a committed couple! Trying to heal from HIS infidelities.


Amongst other bullshit that betrayed wives get told by the man who shredded their life, like, “you’d really like her if you got to know her,” you just internally shudder, thinking, “no dude. I really don’t like cheating whores…”

Recently, he told me (once again, sigh) that I was doing healing all wrong.

That he wishes our post separation relationship was better.

You know what, it’s the best it can be.

If I never have to see him again, that would be magic! I loved him so damn much, it still rips me apart to see him. And as for the POS that thought it was okay to date a thirty year partnered man – because HE told her he was single (although I drove to meet her and tell her face to face he definitely was NOT) well, yeah, I will never play nice with her. She knew how devastated I was, but carried on anyway.

I guess they were fated to be together, could not resist the whole supersonic soulmate thingame pull.

Terrible thing to not fuck over a devoted partner and mother because a known cheater SAID he was single.

I still can’t believe she did that. I never want to have to breathe the same oxygen as her.

She’s as much a cheating cunt as he is.

I always thought Rog and I would be the very best of friends. That no matter what terrible things life threw at us, we’d have each other’s backs. I bonded with him.

I NEVER imagined he would give me STIs that resulted in cancer, surgery and radiotherapy.

And I certainly never in a gazillion years thought he’d walk away to fuck strange rather than be there to support me through that. I still can’t grasp that timeline.

I moved my whole life because he left me for another woman, had surgery two weeks later, then seven weeks of daily radiation, all while I was trying to remain employed and stand upright after the biggest emotional shock of my life. I went to work every day after radiotherapy! I was EXHAUSTED and way too thin. I think adrenaline got me there.

The day of my last radiation, I got on a plane, flew to the capital and met up with my two best, oldest friends. They were amazed at my stamina. I was just running and running and running.

So no. I am happy that I have a very healthy post separation relationship with him. And none with the complete cunt who he left me for.

I wonder if he ever took even one minute to think how devastated he would be if I did even a tenth of the things to him that he did to me? That is where the empathy chip is missing. Because he never loved me. It was all about what he could get from me.

Free labour. Housework. Fed. A broodmare. A nanny to his progeny. A groupie to always back him up.

Et cetera.

You just don’t see it when he love bombs you with all the affection, attention and you’re the absolute love of my lifes.

It’s intoxicating, and you don’t even realise it!

My boundaries about them both seem pretty damn healthy to me.

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Gratitude and appreciation are so damn sexy!

BG is always blown away by all I volunteer to do for him.

I went over yesterday afternoon, after collecting my dogs from boarding kennels.

He was flat out at work, but came to a quick late lunch with me. After that, he went back to the office, so I did a bit of housework for him. Vacuuming, washing floors, folding laundry and ironing a dozen work shirts.

All whilst Netflixing.

Without the chill😉

I also prepped dinner. We had a beetroot, mandarin and goats’ cheese salad to start, and a Singaporean fish curry with brown jasmine rice to follow.

He couldn’t believe I did all of that for him. I also ran with the dogs on the beach and they were exhausted.

And then I read this, by some male “social media personality” I don’t know:

“Fellas.The perfect woman doesn’t exist.

They all have their level of crazy.

Just like we do.

But 10 years after divorce and dating a few women, I’ve figured a few things out about this relationship deal.

Here’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned.


We must CHOOSE.

I played small for a long time.
I had trust issues so I didn’t trust.
I had fear so I kept my distance.
I had resentment that I projected.

In the back of my mind I had the idea that one day the perfect woman would just kick down the door and save me. That This bad ass chick would trump all the others and it would just be rainbows and kittens 24/7.

All the while over the years I used the story of HER insecurities, or HER crazy, or HER issues as my excuse to why I couldn’t make a relationship work.

When in reality I simply hadn’t CHOSEN.

Most of all I hadn’t chosen ME.

To work on me and do some dark, scary, humbling work on ME. To see what I didn’t want to see and change what I was too damn stubborn to change.

Fellas you and I could bounce from woman to woman easily. That’s simple, it takes zero effort. We can say she’s got this problem or that problem, and we are probably right. We can move on over and over and at the end of it all that a pretty hollow existence.

Keeping her at a distance.

But the truth is there is only one way we are going to BUILD (not find) love.

And that’s if we CHOOSE.


Choose her and choose to do whatever work necessary to BUILD with her.

CHOOSE to own your shit.

CHOOSE to close other doors.

CHOOSE to get off the fence.

CHOOSE to dive into the deep and dark shit.

CHOOSE you man.

More than anything, CHOOSE YOU.

CHOOSE to honor yourself by not playing small.

Look, if you want to be Hugh Hefner and have 47 girlfriends so be it. No judgement at all.


If you truly want to build an empire with a queen, YOU MUST CHOOSE TO BE A KING.

When I quit LOOKING for a Queen and I CHOSE to go all in on me, the little girls disappeared and she showed up.

Yea she tests me. A good woman will.

Yea I still have fears. I suspect I always will.

But from one dude to another I can attest to you that the biggest thing I’ve changed to bring this Queen into my life is ME.


I CHOSE to quit lying and blaming.

And once I made that choice and did that work, the game changed.


Surround yourself with other men building REAL relationships. With men who will hold themselves and you to a higher standard.

Much love y’all.

Yeah. I was MAJORLY pissed!

So, these fucktards get to shit all over the first, loyal, loving partner, and THEN they have an epiphany, right? And the woman they cheat WITH get the new, improved, empathetic version.

And the assets and future we loyal, faithful, loving partners worked for.


No wonder my mates are PISSED on my behalf, and determined not to have it happen to them…

And my sweet BG looked at me last night as I was cooking for him, after a late Monday in the office (he’d sent three texts apologising for being held up, it was fine, he was done before 7pm, I was with a late working farmer – was actually a late working farmer myself – for thirty years. I don’t mind) coming home to his clean house, ironed shirts, very happy dogs to see him as he gave them loads of attention, and said he was embarrassed I did those things for him.

And then, he gathered me in, kissing me hard, saying, “that fucker who messed you around is the biggest fucking fool. You’re a freaking legend, my darling Josephine. And I get you all to myself, because he fucked up the worst he will EVER fuck up. Throwing you away for some strange. What a dumbfuck.”

I looked at him, his dimples flashing, eyes twinkling, and just said, with a smile, “nah, he thinks he found someone better.

He will never miss me, he just replaces the women he wears out.

There are no regrets.

I realise I meant nothing to him. Ever. Nothing I could ever do was enough for him.

At least you are grateful for me.

It’s super refreshing.

And I am happy to help when you are under the pump. I actually enjoyed my day of domestic goddesssness! Lol.”

I am always concerned if I do “too much,” smoothing BG’s life, that he will take me for granted, just like Roger did.

So, for him to make a big deal about me helping him out, was reassuring. He was utterly gobsmacked I ironed so many shirts.

It’s his birthday this weekend. His sister and her partner were coming to the beach, but can’t now, with Auckland in lockdown.

Planning some surprises. Hope he likes them. Somehow, I think he will…He seems thoroughly perplexed that a woman is being kind to him.

His friends tell me he has been taken advantage of by most of his exes.

We may just be lucky to have found each other.

🤮🤮🤮 just as Roger and Trinket tell each other about their lucky, lucky “love story,” forgetting who they ripped apart to get there. The reason you NEVER get involved with a man who still lives with his partner. They lie. He never told me he was interviewing for my replacement. He promised me he’d love me forever, even saying after I found out about Trinket, “I can never have what we have, the special bond, the special times that we had, with her.”

Fucker! Keeping me trauma bonded to him until he cut the line!

It still rips me to shreds that the man I adored, and gave my all to, just bugged out, didn’t give a shit about me.

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Dirty John Betty Broderick

I have avoided watching some of these real life programs about scorned wives.

However, I folded and have been watching the latest Dirty John series, about Betty Broderick, and how she was driven to the point of murder. The testimony of the infidelity psychologist about how mindfucked a betrayed spouse is. How manipulated women who are cheated on are. What happens to our brain chemistry.

It’s real. We are loyal, hard working, loving.

And we get fucked over.

I’m up to the part where Betty Broderick is defending herself in court, and trying to explain that the cheater completely forgets how hard we worked. To support the men, towards JOINT financial success.

Her asking if he remembered their first child not having a crib.

I wonder if Roger remembers how dirt poor we were. How hard I scrimped and saved to ensure we ate well and were clothed. How our daughter had nothing either. But we were given clothes and somewhere for her to sleep. Wonderful friends and family.

And despite earning far less than almost all our contemporaries, he was still known as “The best dressed man in town.”

I put so much into US. Especially into him.

As my friends all say, the horror of being left for another woman to reap the benefits of the work we put in. As older couples, many of us have acquired assets and some wealth.

And, like Dan Broderick, these men feel entitled to the money, because THEY earned it.

G pointed this out to me this weekend. Her wealthy husband was stalking her online during the weekend. What she was spending. Where. She has started withdrawing cash so he can’t stalk her.

It sucks.

He feels it is his money.

Not theirs.

She spent $425 on clothes during the weekend. And bought her four kids small gifts.

Meanwhile, he is off to Queenstown for a week, in a hired European car, heli-skiing, staying in 5 star accommodation (we stayed in a very average, cheap city hotel.) Etc. He spends HUGE amounts of money.

No wonder women go a bit insane when their entitled husbands – entitled to money, to strange pussy, to whatever the fuck they like – cheat on them and gaslight the fuck out of their reality.


Not good enough never gets old

The thing with being cheated on is this.

They fuck with your self esteem. I never knew I was in a competition with other women. So I never played my best hand EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAMN DAY! That is just too exhausting. Ask me how I know??? I mean, you do your best at life, but all the not pretty enoughs, not sexy enoughs, not clever enoughs, not good enoughs, they just keep coming at ya.

I was never like this before Leanne. Overly – vainly to a degree, ugh – concerned about my ageing body and face. I try harder than ever in bed! (And I always loved great sex before Leanne…) It is pathetic.

G told me that she could see how hurt I still am, that I still wobble really badly if anyone talks about Rog. She says she has never loved anyone enough to feel that, but understands as her partner of 3 years was a serial cheat when she was in her 20s. She vowed never to give that much of herself away ever again.

Cheaters suck.

Yeah, I do wobble. Quite badly. The lip goes, the eyes water…

And I hate it. So embarrassing.

I told her I am very heartbroken, but very aware of who he really is. She said she has always been concerned that if things with Trinket go pear shaped, or she dies, that I am still susceptible to him.

Um. Well, for the first year, yes. I was terrified I wouldn’t be strong enough in that position. I was fairly sure I would be, but I still love the man I thought he was, to this day. And that is really very scary.

But, I told her, I DO know who he is today. He is not the man I loved for thirty years.

He made me feel not good enough.

At anything.

For anything.

My entire adult life was about ensuring he was happy and safe.

We talked about how I always put him first, the kids next. I thought he would be with me forever. We chose each other, and got the kids random genetics gift us.

Sad, eh? That he knew he was my everything, and yet he happily kept me in the dark as he groomed other women to take over my role.

I noticed it this weekend, this fear of never measuring up. I have gained some weight this year. Lockdown started it, and I am finally addressing it properly. I’m still a healthy weight, but just not as slim as I was. And I felt self conscious about seeing G’s good friend, Logan, one half of the gorgeous couple she introduced us to, and we went out partying with two years ago. I went home earlier than the rest that night, embarrassed at my Nana. But, as G said, “Paula, you got on a plane at your thinnest, you were a skinny 55kg, having just had your last radiation therapy appointment, trying to beat cervical cancer! Going to bed after midnight was a top effort, chick!”

My stamina was better this trip! I stayed out, and we partied hard on Saturday night.

But yeah, I felt too old, too chubby, too rural, too lame….

And that wasn’t a thing for me before Roger threw me under the bus.

Then the train.

Self esteem is constant, mindful work for me. I try really hard to accept compliments graciously. I always feel not good enough…



BG has been in touch a lot this weekend.

Not in an overbearing way. Just checking we were having a great time.

His local rugby team won the club rugby final. First time in about 50 years, and with no spectators allowed, they livestreamed it in the club. So they were busy, as he could separate three areas of people. 300 people.

He also let me know several times how much he misses me. We rarely have weekends apart these days.

Although, he said he missed all his girls! And was quite surprised how much. Meaning my dogs, too, lol.

Think it’s the dogs…

Tonight, he took a trip over the hill to his friend, Marty’s. Marty’s elderly mum and dad live in a granny flat on their property and his dad is terminal. BG is close with them, Tom being more like a father to him than his own. He just messaged that he is so glad he went as he is a lot worse than when we last saw him three weeks ago.

His Mum is locked down in her aged care facility and also quite unwell. BG is very good at keeping in touch with the generation who loved and raised him. It’s one of the wonderful qualities that I love about him. A single, almost 55 year old, never married, no kids, straight man, who cares about his people.

As compared to the last man I loved, who didn’t see his dying mother for more than three weeks before she died, despite living less than half an hour from her. Caring equalled weakness, I guess? It was my job to love and care. Not his. Although he was physically very affectionate with me, that was for his purposes, to keep me sweet.

Then moving four hours away from his 90 year old father. When I asked after his Dad recently, he brushed it off.

I know how the care BG shows for people is genuine, unforced, and not done out of a sense of duty. I ask him about his people and he can tell me.

G said several times this weekend that she really likes him, the way he fits in easily, and is helpful, and attentive of me and my friends.

I’ve never had that before.

And I am so appreciative of it.

Care and kindness are sexy AF!