Little dog to the groomer first thing. Planned road closure, so got there early, to beat it.
Home, check beehives, put top feeders on, feed hives. BG arrives while I am suited up, laughing at me in my beesuit, smoker in hand, wishing he had a camera. Talk to the people on my neighbour’s land , who are trying to locate a recorder, in a large tree on my place, to check on bat activity. Funny. My mind went straight to bat shit crazy. I know I’ve been painted that way by the flying monkeys.
Had a horse that BG and I have a share each in, racing yesterday. It was in a nearby city. Knew we had to negotiate the road closure, so planned to leave a bit early.
Roger was there. Ugh. FFS. I had no idea, and got a huge shock, seeing him.
Like, near me. Why doesn’t he stay down there? Lol. (I vastly prefer feeling mostly secure that he won’t pop up in my life…) my heart sank.
I don’t have a clue how many horses he has shares in these days. But he always seems to know what I do. So weird.
Anyway. I avoid.
But he always tries to engage. I hate it. But I answer questions, etc, hoping he’ll go away fast. It’s a public forum. You really do have to play nice. But I liken it to all the times in a woman’s life where society says, “be nice.”
Your boss felt you up a bit, why aren’t you flattered, he finds you attractive, be nice.
Your parents’ creepy friend made lewd jokes about women’s bodies. He’s old. Be nice.
Your friend of a friend raped you. He made a “mistake.” Be nice.
Your cheating, lying, abusive ex wants to chat. Isn’t that great, you’re still friends. Be nice.
I have managed to avoid contact for about two years. But two sightings in the last month or so. It still upsets me no end. My heart races and I go all wobbly. I break out in a cold sweat. I struggle to breathe properly. Fuck. I hate it. I think I cover all the panic signs well? Dunno. I feel like a cornered animal. Swan gliding across the lake, feet furiously paddling underneath!
BG is fascinated. He sees Roger as being like his cheating dad. If he chats nicely with me, then he ensures that to the outside world, that all is well, he did nothing wrong. He’s so intrigued that Trinket has NEVER shown her face. I met her while we were still together. Just after I found out he was cheating again, with her this time. I drove hours to (my shame) beg her not to keep on with her affair with my partner of over three decades.
Never once since. BG finds that as weird as I do. But, I’m not complaining. I don’t ever want to see her. I wouldn’t trust myself, lol. Joking.
I think? 😜
BG also has this strange, but understandable (from the outside) theory. He thinks Roger engages also to keep me on the hook. So he has a back up plan. If Trinket ever walks.
I roll my eyes.
I don’t think Roger gives a flying fuck about me.
He didn’t want me then.
He certainly doesn’t want me now.
It’s all image management.
We are not friends. Friends don’t lie, cheat, see your utter devastation, watch you work your arse off to heal, to grow, give you potentially fatal – certainly health compromising – diseases and cheat again, walking away telling you that “one day, we’ll find our way back to each other,” then never even ask once how your cancer treatment (from an STI he gave you) is going.
Interestingly, BG told me the other day that Chrissy also played that Terminator card. “Ah’ll be back!’ With, “we need a little break, to figure some stuff out. It’s not over, babe.”
That was the last time he saw her. She did continue to message for years. Including annual “Happy Birthday, babe,” messages for about three or four years after she left. It’s stopped now. I saw the messages. He didn’t reply.
Hopium is a powerful drug. BG gets it, because he also had to break the addiction, when his dealer promised more, but never delivered. I know he thinks I am vulnerable to Rog hoovering. Coming back to reclaim me.
I was for a while.
I knew it then, and it TERRIFIED me. Thankfully, he really was done with using me up. Thankfully the Wonders of Trinket’s Magical Pussy kept me safe from the hoover. I am stronger and better now. The addiction is under control.
BG also has a bizarre theory, which I know to be bollocks, as a woman.
He thinks Trinket is scared Rog will leave her, for me. I admit, I couldn’t be with another cheater, my insecurities would do my head in. (NB I was never in the slightest bit jealous, nor insecure, before Leanne. Cheating partner changed me at my core. Forever.)
So she doesn’t show? What??? That makes zero sense, dude.
Nah. It doesn’t work like that. She’s secure. If she wasn’t, she’d be glued to his side. They are living love’s wrinkly dream 😄
Anyway. The horse went very average. Poor ride by the jockey. That’s racing.
I’m sure Roger found that very amusing.
We headed home, picked up the dog, leaving flowers I had packed in a chilly bin in the car all day, for the groomer’s darling mother, a dear friend, who is recovering from cancer surgery.
Threw clothes in a bag, kissed niece and nephew goodbye, they head back down to their Mum’s today, gave doggos treats and goodbye snuggles, and off to BG’s. We got there around 7. He threw clothes in a bag, golf clubs in car, off up the coast to Andy and Ingrid’s. Here by 9, we drank some red wine, and played pool. BG is a pool shark! We doubled up and played Andy and his friend, Bob. Andy is decently talented too. I just had to not fuck up, and the competition was close, us winning a first to five close encounter.
Bed. Sleep. I’m exhausted. The boys have just left to drive further up the coast to play golf. I’m in bed, contemplating making a cup of tea.
Counting my blessings. This is such a good life.