Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Productive

Huge day.

I was a sweet wee hausfrau and washed the linen, made up the bed, ironed work shirts and a pair of trousers, vacuumed and washed dishes for BG as he played golf this morning. I headed home before he was finished, as planned. Leaving a wee ‘love’ note on his pillow.

He called when he got back, so grateful for all I had done to his wee house, and growling at me for doing it.

I had 42 small bales of silage to collect and stack (heavy!) a pile of outrigger wire to wind up, lawns to mow, and 3 heifers to load up at my friend’s house and relocate down the road to yet another single-woman-whose-husband-cheated-and-she-divorced-him’s lifestyle block.

There are a tribe of us, helping each other out! Who knew so many glorious, good looking, hard working, loving, loyal middle aged women would be traded in for a new model in our 50s???

They’re bloody everywhere! And I haven’t run into a single man who has had it happen the other way around! Which is weird. Because statistics say just as often.

My theory is, women cheat earlier. They cheat often because they really are weak people, but work out they married someone who wasn’t right for them, and get out by cheating early in the marriage, instead of being honest.

So, I looked it up. And yes, under 30, the rates of cheating are about the same for either gender in heterosexual relationships.

But, as we age, men cheat more and more than women do. How predictable.

Men seem to cheat because they become more and more entitled as the women who love them smooth all the hard stuff in life for decades. Become their PA’s, taking care of all the boring admin. Then get bored, and think to hell with it, my dick needs strange! Who gives a fuck? I’ll never get caught. And/or if I get caught, I’ll have new supply secured, so who cares? I’ve used up that last one. She’s not enough anymore. Plenty more fish in the sea.

As I was moving stock, my friend asked me how I deal with the OW (dear wee, innocent Trinket) around my kids. I said, it’s the hardest thing. I can’t STAND that the cunt who thought it was okay to fuck my partner EVEN AFTER I TOLD HER TO HER FACE that I was never informed that he was “single,” gets to be around my kids. But they are adults, and I have to eat that shit sandwich. I don’t have a CLUE, how that bitch lives with herself. How she can’t have ever put herself in my shoes. I mean she told me how much she hated the bitches her dead husband cheated on her with???!!! So why would she do it to me, and why would she not get how awful sharing your precious kids with that bitch is? But that you can do nothing. Not a damn thing, about it. You just shut up, suck it up, in quiet agony when the kids are there, playing nice.

L said that he kids are still refusing to meet her STBX’s whore. But she knows that somewhere along the line, it will happen. She’s preparing for the pain of that.

In bath. Soaking the aches. BG is messaging. Night guys, another week, back into Level 2 lockdown here.


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Funeral

It was my hometown’s big race meeting of the year yesterday.

I normally go and enjoy myself immensely. But, since Trinket, I struggle badly.

I’m always worried they will be there. Our friends and us used to always hire a marquee spot and make a big effort with divine BBQ food, delicious salads and platter food. Champagne, beer… I no longer have to sober drive home.

Nor have a sober driver.

It hurts. That I struggle. I don’t want to run into Roger’s best mate’s horror show of a wife, either. They wrote me off. After I knew and loved H for over 30 years. After I supported him through his first wife’s cheating and leaving. People are weird.

Anyway. I had a funeral to attend with BG. So could not attend the race meeting.

The funeral of a long term employee. A lovely, quiet, kind, strong man. He worked for BG, up until he couldn’t. A year ago post our biggest Covid lockdown, BG and him decided together it wasn’t safe for him to return to his job. He was 74, and unfortunately, the big C caught him.

I sat and listened to the life story of this good man. Jim.

Good sense of humour. Good sense of justice. Good son. Good brother. Good husband. Good father. Good community man. He wasn’t a saint, but he was what my grandfather would have called a bottler. He needed cloning!

The shining light from the story was his deep, unwavering love for the love of his life, his wife of what would have been 50 years in a couple of months. He totally adored her. Thought he’d got the cream. It was so very obvious.

BG got up to speak, and the tears seeped down my cheeks as he was not there beside me to witness them. I composed myself before he returned, but my heart is still aching badly today.

You see, this was once my story. My future. We saw ourselves as that couple. So close. So in love. We were gonna be that kooky old couple who walked hand in hand down a beach, kissing passionately, twinkles in our eyes for each other. From day one, through his first serious cheating episode, right to the day he drove out of my life, I adored Roger. I kept thinking I was going to wake up from the nightmare he was conducting! Not us! We love each other, right???

So, yeah. I struggle with funerals now. My MIL whose was just about 10 days before Roger drove away. Friends. Strangers even. I only knew Jim less than two years. But I silently, privately, discreetly cried at his funeral.

I always miss my Mum. I thought of what I said at hers, and what I’d say now, 20 years older.

I wasn’t like this before this life. I was always an empath. But I could usually keep it together until I left the venue.

Nope. Now the salty tears arrive unannounced, at the strangest of moments. I hate it. But I accept this is part of the damage Roger inflicted. I can’t easily go places that were once so easily mine. (The lake house. My home town. Etc.) I am glad I didn’t have to mentally shore myself up to go to the races.

Beautifully, BG’s old friends, Marty and his gorgeous wife, Nicki, were here in town last night. Friends of theirs, who we know and love, have just bought a bach (holiday home) here. We went and participated in a fish and chips on the waterfront in front of their new house picnic dinner to welcome them in. Drinks, laughs, my dogs made themselves at home in the moving in chaos.

We took the boys back to the club, to watch a televised boxing match (I loathe the bloodsport…) and Marty, half drunkenly asked me about my beautiful natured huntaway, sitting beside me on the drive home. “How come, Paula, you have this beautiful working dog? What’s up with that?” Marty is a dairy farmer. He also used to work in the fashion industry, has sons in the music industry, he’s a chill, quirky, cool cat. His first wife, mother of his eldest three, cheated on him 20 + years ago. It was dramatic, painful, public, he had no idea until the police showed up to protect him from a jealous, armed, AP! I told him the story of how Roger drove off to his new life, his affair partner, after thirty years with me, where I just loved him to bits, and left his working dog in the kennels. And I realised I was now her mother. She was now mine. Marty was horrified. “Really? Jesus. That guy. WTAF? Look at you here, all glowy, sexy as fuck, BG is smitten you know. Never seen him like this about a woman, he’s so happy, and you’re a bloody amazing chick, with this beautiful dog. Your ex. Is he insane? Why am I even asking? Of course he is!”

I laughed, and said, “well, obviously I’m not his cup of tea.” Marty, “oh, right. I always see gorgeous, funny, fucking clever, youthful 50 something year old women hanging about. You’re a bit like my Nicki. Strong, loving, total babe. And there’s not that many of you.”

I think I need to keep half drunk Martys around more. I’m sure my ego needs it 🤣🤣🤣


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Betrayal trauma. An update

https://wp.me/pbiNOL-tQ

Reblogging my wonderful friend, Don’t Lose Hope’s pinpoint accurate post regarding trauma, and the painfully slow process of healing.

I was told to stop talking about my trauma and intense grief – clinically diagnosed ‘complicated grief,’ in fact.

Not always in words. I sensed fatigue pretty early on. You get the social cues quickly. The discomfort. The complete lack of understanding. The reduced or non-existent empathy…(being screamed at like a damn Banshee in public without having uttered a word, by a drunk – the cheater wife of Roger’s best mate – just a few weeks into Dday V2.0: The Tale of Trinket, springs to mind!)

Roger told me constantly to “get over it.” The guilt of what he did was a bit uncomfortable for the poor sad sausage.

More recently, he told me to stop telling the truth. Obviously undermines his story.

Hmmm. I don’t say much these days. It would be an insane thing to do. But this space is my life saver. My sanctuary. My safe space. I can say what I am really feeling. It’s an important part of trauma processing. An important part of the journey I was unceremoniously launched on the first night Roger climbed out of our bed, and into Leanne’s to fuck her. The one he shoved me further down as he spent 18 months secretly texting and “hooking up” (their words) with her. Mostly in my homes, vehicles, and on my property.

The one Leanne gave me another enormous push on, when the bunny boiler texted me after he apparently ended it? Hint, he continued to have contact with her, and fucked her again two years later, how “ended” really was it?

Thank you, DLH. Your empathy, knowledge, education, and constancy have been key components in my healing journey. I accept this will be a life sentence. But I also know I am adjusting the circumstances of my incarceration to make them less uncomfortable, as I continue to do the damn hard work of recovery ❤


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Treasured

BG is a bloody honey!

He doesn’t know it, but I’ve had a week where I have felt very out of sorts. No real reason, just a lot going on. And he has helped. Kinda anyway. Just having him miss me is nice.

I’ve started the job hunt and as many may relate, it’s a bit disheartening. But if I find something worthwhile, I’ll have a good crack at it. The problem is, I’m at the top of my payscale for this current type of employment. And I get the same salary working four days a week that I did working five. That will be hard to replicate. I really think this is a case of needing to own my own business…but with another real estate deal about to settle, and a bathroom reno to pay for, I need to consolidate finances right now.

Timing.

My poor son’s flight to his new job overseas was cancelled – again. He’s frustrated. I was all sorted, trailer hitched up, to go shift him out of his flat today, Friday, as he was flying tomorrow. Nope. Not now. He’s decided to go to work instead. His ex employer (he’d resigned to move to his new position in Australia) has been good to him, and given him some temp projects as this delay drags on.

My youngest had an enormous mental health week. I am very concerned for her, but at least she’s talking, sharing her bottoming out with me. And plans to tell her therapist the full extent. She has been holding some back.

On top of all of that, my libido is crazy, I’m off the scale right now…

Anyway, BG sent me sweet messages last night. He’d had a committee meeting, must have gone on late, as he was having what he called “whinge drinks” afterwards with the president.

And sent me a message saying how much he missed me, and how he didn’t deserve me and my support.

He always thinks he’s punching above with me, which cracks me up. Self flagellating. His friends don’t realise how fragile he is, his self doubts. His worry about not “being enough.” He comes across as very comfortable in his own skin.

But yeah, it’s good for the bashed ego, for sure, for me to hear how he treasures having me in his life.


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You two were so connected

I had drinks with a girlfriend after work, at a local restaurant and bar yesterday.

She’s a sweet wee thing. Was married to a guy who first worked for my in-laws after leaving school. He was a serial cheater, and quite open philanderer. He used to come onto me (I’m quite a bit older, and an old “friend”) which grossed me out, and sent filthy messages to a gorgeous single woman I know, etc. Macey, this lovely STBX wife of his is adventurous, and tried to make it work. She participated in group sex sessions. But didn’t know how bad he really was with the cheating and sexual predation.

Anyway, she’s doing well. A great new job, starting to look at properties in anticipation of their farm sale, etc. A very positive soul.

We got talking about kids’ mental health. Her eldest, just started high school, has the same name as my youngest, who is in a big mental health crisis, coming to a head yesterday. Her daughter also has anxiety, and new school was a huge challenge, and how they handled that with a fun picnic exploration with a few girlfriends two days before school started after summer break. We talked about how we support, how we talk to our children, these daughters in particular.

That discussion led to one about our own mental health. I admitted that there have been some very dark times, and that they were particularly intense – scarily so – and very prolonged, after Roger left to his new life.

She admitted to me – she said for the first time to anyone – that she had ideation, that she had planned out a suicide, but the only thing that stopped her was she couldn’t find any duct tape that night.

She is a bubbly blonde, always appears to look on the bright side. But I’m so glad she told me. It’s safer to talk. To tell someone. I used this blogging space a lot to “tell” people. To try to cling onto life when I was terrified for my children that I wasn’t going to be able to.

Then Macey said, “so, how often do you see Roger? How do you guys get on now?”

She has two dependent children and 50/50 custody, so lots of contact, and she and Cody, on the surface, get on. She didn’t leave him because of “an” affair. She was just sick of being married to him. It wasn’t fun. It was the opposite of fun.

That said, their amicability is really a front. She says he’s a secretive, controlling man, and she knows he is hiding financial stuff, will not come back to her with a counter offer to her separation agreement. She knows he is trying to shaft her out of her fair share of their business, and has a good legal team guiding her. Cody is using the same old school lawyer Roger did. Who was our joint, and business lawyer when we were together. Macey has a more progressive person on her case, checking she is taken care of.

I just said, “we don’t really get on. Until this weekend, it had been more than a year since I had seen him. We don’t talk. The last time he did, he berated me for telling my truth, that the truth of his latest affair was upsetting poor Trinket. He told me how I should be living my life, tried to manipulate me. I now realise, he always did. I loved him as much thirty years on, as I did at the start. More. But he threw me away for other women. I needed to distance myself because he was really bad for me, and I still love who I thought he was. I even had to ask BG not to wear a scent I found in his bathroom as I smelled it on him one night as was in turmoil, because it was a scent Roger loved, that I bought him. I couldn’t stand it, snuggling into BG, and smelling my long time love…ugh, I felt physically ill.”

All the memories are lies.

Macey nodded. “We were never like that. We were a pretty good team. But no deep, deep love like that. I used to see you guys, at places like the (yearling) sales, the races, and you two were totally awe inspiring. Amazing. So connected. I’ve never really seen that before. Where you could SEE a great connection between a really totally in love, long term couple. I don’t mean that lovey, dovey OTT affection of the honeymoon period. I mean, an intense draw between the two of you. You were couple goals, for sure. I can’t believe he did this. He broke that. Why? If you guys couldn’t work, where the hell is the hope for the rest of us? I am still so shocked!”

Hmmm. Yeah. You and me both, Macey. I was completely shocked, too. Especially when he did it again!


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How they roll

Isn’t it bizarre?

I still struggle. With how the hell anyone can knowingly be an AP.

I’ll never really come to terms with it. How Trinket agreed to be an OW, even after I told her I was his partner, and we were definitely not separated.

Ugh. I guess people are just selfish.

And there is absolutely nothing you can do. When your partner keeps choosing other people over you, over your love, over your pain.

Nothing.


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Dad! Dad! Dad!

“He’s not his dad, you know!”

I was talking with a younger woman this morning at work. She told me her husband had left her for another woman a few months ago.

This weekend, he finally admitted the affair was several years long, and that the other woman’s daughter is his.

My heart cracked wide open for her. She says she had started to suspect, but was nevertheless in shock. Her two children have a sibling. And she’s trying to deal with that herself, let alone how to tell them.

And after she left, my blood ran coldly through my veins, as I recalled a moment on holiday at our lake house.

Roger headed off across the empty sections in his waders, rod and tackle box in hand, for an evening fly fish.

I had poured Leanne and myself a glass of chilled wine, my kids were downstairs, when her 3 and a half year old bolted out onto the balcony, while I was assembling a platter, shouting loudly after Rog, “Dad! Dad! Dad!” Leanne looked at me, mortified.

And said the weirdest thing. “He’s not his dad, you know.”

I am so fucking stupid! I just roared laughing, thinking she was being silly.

Nope. Red flag. Another one waving hard, smooshing up all over my face.

I never for a moment entertained any thoughts like that!

Dumbass of the century.


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Ah fuck. Don’t poke the trigger bear

It’s been a long time. But I can still be acutely triggered.

Dammit!

Don’t watch anything remotely intimate. I don’t mean sex scenes. I mean really intimate scenes.

I just finally watched The Dig tonight.

And at the end, the moments between Lily James’ character and her lover…oh shhhhiiiiiit!

It was me and Rog. Those touches, those looks, those gentle nose rubs, that abandon. I was dying, DYING watching it, as every part of me ached, and tears leaked down my cheeks silently.

BG is the sweetest, kindest, funnest, loveliest. I love him. But it is far, far different. And we don’t have that oh-so-electric connection.

Roger and I did.

Or I did.

That is my intensely strong trauma bond. I still feel it very badly. I often feel he is nearby, and later discover he has been visiting up here. It’s intense. And exhausting.

Anyway. He threw me away for a beige mouse. Who he obviously has a more passionate and fulfilling connection with.

I know how he really turned out to be.

But man. That got me bad. So bad. My throat, my back, my chest, my shoulders are all unbelievably painful with the ache of missing … not the him he is today … the mirage.

Anyway, normal transmission needs to resume. I saw him. I hated seeing him. I hated that he can pretend we are old friends and not feel a damn thing. I hate that I was scared he was going to touch me.

I recognise my trauma bond is still intact. And I know to keep away, and that it is a type of mental illness.


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Silence

There are too many words, too many emotions, flying around inside of me to get them in a line to get outside of me.

I had to go to his city. And I knew he’d be at the event I was attending, and was 95% sure the whore would be too.

I sucked it up hard. I have to be able to live my life. But I know he still affects me.

And I wish to high heavens that it didn’t. That I didn’t give a damn.

I don’t wish him actually dead, but my God, I wish he’d died. Before I knew he was a cheater. So I could mourn properly, and remember him as the sweetheart he appeared to be, my love, my heart, my bestest friend I ever had (!!!) my life.

As I have stated before, I’d prefer that I never have to ever see him again. Of course, that is unrealistic. We made three humans together.

It was the most expensive, disruptive, demeaning, heartbreaking thirty years. Lord. Why did I try to make it work with him after the disgusting 18 months he spent fucking our friend under my nose, in our homes?

Why?

Why did he hate me so much, he just shattered me into millions of tiny shards? Then, just as I was completing an incredibly challenging, unbelievably healing project, in my very “personal” Masters thesis, he did it again???!!! WTAF??? What did I ever do to make him think I deserved this hell?

As we drove south (yep, BG decided to come, too, even though I said it was just a huge mission to drive the nearly eight hour round trip in a day) and we drove past the turn off to our former holiday home, I realised how much lighter I now feel without that millstone of the lake house I was determined I needed to keep, for our children? The peace of mind, not having to pay bills for it, think about who was staying when, the very image of that beautiful house, with my lover dick deep in other women, in my supposed sanctuary.

I had very little real idea of how much better I would feel without it.

Anyway, I have cattle to feed, I’ll get these words out of me, one way or another in due course.

I’ll leave you with a pic of the view where we went for some food and a glass of cider before heading home. 💙

Thank you, my friends here. My only safe outlet for this pain xxx.


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Real life?

New relationships are interesting. We all know about the honeymoon period.

I’ve been lucky. My honeymoon period with Roger lasted a very long time. Around five years, at least, I reckon.

Well, for me it did.

I have no idea about him. After all he fucked his ex GF just three weeks into “us,” a prostitute within the first year or so…and these are just examples of what I do actually know. So yeah, while I was all loved up, he was fucking around. Yay!

With BG, the distance has prolonged the honeymoon period, I believe. But I know things have settled into a less “intensely scary” thing now. He was careful to be on his best “dating” behaviour for a long time. Always perfectly groomed, house impeccably clean, he’d never fart, nor belch, in front of me, for example. He has still never farted noisily in the same room as me, but is less tense about me ever hearing. His house is small, lol!

Divorced Girl Smiling writes of this period,

“Remember that every person who gets into a new romantic relationship is on his or her best behavior for at least the first 2 years. Year 3 is when reality sets in, and people start to show who they really are. That’s not a bad thing if you’re with the right person, by the way.”

Yeah. When shit starts to get real.

We are starting to very gingerly discuss how we combine our lives.

One day.

The reality is, it doesn’t even have to be a given. Distance, and not living together are another option, of course. I haven’t yet said that. I miss him a lot. But there is no rush. And no compulsion. It doesn’t have to be that way. Societal norms can get fucked.

BG has struggled with his very challenging employment position as long as I’ve known him. He was head hunted to sort out the business, and is delivering what he promised, but it is intense. He hasn’t known whether to stay, whether he can cope with too many more intensely pressurised years But I am seeing him as someone who thrives in this type of environment. I just am somewhat concerned for his health, but I’m not his mother. His hypertension is an indicator of how his body absorbs the challenges. I am fairly sure he puts intense pressure on himself. That he has always been like this. I know he beats himself up about the “should haves.” Even knowing that is not being kind to himself.

He got a $10k raise the other day. Backdated to Sept 2020. That pleased him, and he discussed with me that he was committed to his current situation until at least June. I have always known that. His five year plan to “fix” the business. He has turned it around, financially. The staffing situation is the stone in his shoe. He has great people around him, in middle management. But the very nature of a large hospitality business in a small town…how do you retain the bottom tier? I don’t think you can. You have to learn to accept that uneducated staff will rotate through lower paying positions, are transient. You can pay loyal ones more, but there are always restraints. It is impossible to keep paying more and more to un and semi-skilled labour. If they are not training, upskilling, etc. And those entry level positions, still need filling.

Anyway, back to us.

I am home, getting some chores completed. I went over to him on Thursday night, and back Friday around lunchtime.

BG showed some uncharacteristic insecurity. Saying, “Oh babe, so you don’t wanna be here with me anymore”…waggling his eyebrows. I just looked sadly at him, as he had been a bit funny anyway. He was planning a day’s fishing on Sunday, and I reminded him my horse is racing, and I want to attend. It is in Roger’s new city. And he is still a part owner of the mare. I hate going there. I hate the awful anticipation of the possibility of seeing the loved up couple. But mostly of seeing him. The man I gave myself to. Who then threw me away. He hates me so much. I can’t stand it. I would happily go without ever having to see him again in this, or any other lifetime now.

And that cunt he left me for? Well. Enough said.🤢🤢🤢

Anyway. I decided I am sick of feeling like I have to stay away when I love this horse. I’m going. Roger and Trinket can just fuck right off.

BG seemed a bit weird about it. I am so cruisy, I often just go with the flow of whatever he plans. This time, I have decided to do something else. I know he’s fine with it, it’s possibly just challenging to him, because it happens to be in Roger’s city. Of course I have told BG I’d love it if he came too.

His sister and her partner are coming to my place today. For the first time. I like her. 9 years older, her partner another 6 years older again. They may stay overnight. We were invited to go horse trekking with them. But it was a five hour drive from me, six and a half from BG. On a beautiful, remote station, owned by an ex employee and now friend of BG’s daughter, and her partner. The place was recently featured on a long running, iconic television series about interesting rural businesses. I was super keen, but BG decided it was too much driving, and with me wanting to watch my horse race…well, nearly impossible. He was right. I would have hit next week exhausted. My bloods are still waaay off again. #fuckcancer

I definitely got the feeling that BG is feeling a bit insecure. I don’t want to make it worse, but it isn’t my job to pander to him completely. I did that before. And that man became (or always was, I dunno, chicken, egg…) an entitled, lying cheater. Who discounted me, his supposed equal partner. Disregarded my hopes, my dreams. My ambitions. And when he was caught cheating, and I decided I needed to start doing some things for me (education mainly) his ego got all butt hurt that my life was no longer 100% focused on his needs. We had so many “open and honest” – oh yeah, that was just me again – conversations. About healing. About making sure I was okay, for “us” to be okay, after he fucked our “friend” under my nose for a year and a half in my homes and vehicles (ewwww!) While he assured, and then reassured me that nothing was going on.

Dumbest Partner Ever!

I was working on me, with the promise from him that he supported my healing journey, and would wait for me to complete my Masters.

Yeah, right.

The entire time, he was online dating. Other women. Every-fucking-where! Dumbass Paula believed the liar AGAIN!🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️💔💔💔 He just couldn’t deal with my strength, forged through his betrayal of me.

Anyway. I know BG is feeling a bit insecure. And whilst I am aware, and my instinct is to acquiesce and smooth it all over by denying my own wants and needs, I am too aware of how that road rides! I am feeling guilty, because of the way Roger wired my little please-everyone-please brain. That my desires are less important.

Fuck that noise. I have had shit to do. I chose my bathroom tiles, a bath, the wood for the basin cabinetry. I got my horse’s feet done. Lawns mowed. My own nails done. The last little missing bit of my deck oiled, with a new tin of oil purchased. Replanted some outdoor flower tubs. Picked up boots from the cobbler that had been there three weeks…in other words, sorted shit out that needed sorting out.

This concerns me at times. I don’t want to punish BG for Roger’s sins 💔

Anyway, fam. I’m off to my local farmer’s market to buy some produce. I’ve missed my Saturday morning bliss in doing this wee self care task. Ciao, my lovelies 💋