Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


How to take the wind out of my sails

I am still far too damn fragile.

It annoys me no end.

This morning, my friend (who is also an ex fuck buddy of Roger’s) and I were talking. She’s actually really great, but is still friends with him, that’s okay.

But, as we were about to hang up, she told me she,was having dinner with Rog and his cunt tonight.

Obviously, she used the cunt’s name.

It kicked me in the gut. That my friend socialises with that homewrecking cunt.

Yeah, I know. She just believed Roger’s lies. But I did actually tell her in person that he was lying to her, that I had missed the memo that he was single! He was cheating on me, AGAIN, with her.

I thought I’d be better by now.

But I’m not. I’m here, living a new life. But it still utterly breaks my heart. That this happens. That she told me. I mean why would she tell me???

I briefly mentioned it to BG. He just said, “well, apparently everyone is friends now. You and he have been seen at events together. You’re all matey-matey.”

Cool. NOT!!!

I’ve had a rough day because of it. Totally down and not myself. I’ve been to a nearby city with BG, to a meeting with him. And tried to pretend I’m okay. But he noticed. “What have I done, darling? You seem a million miles away.”

So annoyed at myself. I tried to stay present. I worked hard to be the supportive, engaged partner.

And failed. Obviously.

I don’t know how I will ever get them out of my head. I mindfully switch channels. I practice gratitude and concentrate on the fabulousness of my life.

But heartbreak is real. And permanent.

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Missing someone is always a bit shit. Stink being so far apart, and having not seen that barman for a while.

But nothing compared to how I pined for Rog when we were apart.

I can remember him coming back from a two week hunting trip, when our eldest was a toddler. He told me how the other boys were all so happy to “get away from the ball and chain.”

But not him. He missed me like crazy. Said it was physical pain.

I often wonder if he tells Trinket the same lies.

I still ache for him. Again, not this him. The him I thought he was.

The way I ached for him when I was in the UK, and he was off fucking the whole town. I mean, it was okay, we were separated. But I fucked no one. And ached for him, while we wrote to each other three times a week.

Ugh. He really made me believe we were destined for each other.

A fully grown, supposedly intelligent woman. FFS 🤦‍♀️


Telling your story

I was deeply ashamed.

Firstly, that I stayed.

After his affair. What kind of strong feminist, role model was I to my children if I stayed with a man who actively chose to hurt me every day? Who didn’t even care enough about their mother’s health, to roll a condom on when he fucked another woman?

I was embarrassed about staying. So weak.

Later, I was ashamed of him.

The man I chose. To love. To honour. To cherish. To breed with. To share my body and my life with.

So, I started to withdraw. From society. I wanted to become invisible.

I’m not an invisible kind of girl. I wear bright colours. I’m feisty. I stand up for injustice and against intolerance.

But, Roger’s affair with my so-called friend, made me ashamed.

I started blogging some time later. I had connected with a small handful of women, and read a lot of information and books about recovery from a partner’s infidelity. I started to feel safe with a select few, to tell my truth.

You can’t tell it out in the real world to many people. But I started to share it here, in the blogosphere.

Oh how it helped! Like unshouldering a heavy backpack. The shame shrunk, little by little.

I started to believe what I knew was true.

This was not my shame to bear.

It started me on a healing journey that was long and slow, but progress was happening.

Telling my story also eventually made it okay for me to do the kind of geographical research I did for my Masters, and for some postgrad papers. It meant I got to publish a chapter in an academic handbook. Things I would have never achieved had I not had to do the hard work of recovery.

Had I not become brave enough to tell my story.

I was thinking today that I should really thank Trinket.

For taking him out of my life.

Because he never believed in me. Even when I started achieving academically, it was better for him if I was beneath him. I did his cooking, cleaning, shopping, accounting, milking, feeding shearers, farm labouring….

There was such a power imbalance. I always knew it, felt it, but was given enough to make me think maybe he saw me as an equal.

So, those lovebirds down there, I wish I could just go, oh great. Good job. Be happy.

But I can’t.

Because I really loved that man.

He shouldn’t have been hers to take.

And it KILLS me thinking of him giving all that love – that I really believed was mine, all that charm, attention, touch all that incredible lovemaking – to that whore.

My stomach still aches, thinking about them together, all loved up. All smoochy and blissed up together.

Just like I used to be with him.

Anyway. It is what it is. I need sleep…



We live over an hour and a half apart, the barman and me.

We have messaged and chatted multiple times a day for – shit – over two and a half years.

This week, I have realised – or rather – fully taken on board that I give too much.

I’ve known it forever. I did it for Roger too. Picked up all the slack. Put myself and my needs last.

So, I left earlier than usual. No unhappy words, just knew I needed to put distance between us.

BG hasn’t clicked. There’s been radio silence. 24 hours. That has never happened. There are always good nights. Good mornings. Lots of I miss yous, etc.

I realised I have never been fully loved.

Like I love.

And I just don’t wanna be that nice girl who makes these men’s lives easy anymore. My smoothing the way just makes me invisible.

I’m not a drama queen. I don’t make trouble to get a reaction. But I’ve pulled away.

And yeah. He hasn’t noticed.

Think I’ll reconsider going over to do some bar shifts for him this weekend.

And I’m okay. It really aches that Roger gives all the love I lavished on him to that whore.

I slept hardly a wink last night. At one point I turned on my bedside lamp, and was surprised at how I looked. So took a selfie. Low light, no makeup, dishevelled hair, this old girl looked soft and loving. The original, then black and white…

Shame the people I love don’t reciprocate.

Their loss. I’m worth the effort.


I don’t give AF about you

Been awake for three hours. It’s 5.29am.

So much for thinking starting back on the previously ineffective melatonin, was working this time!

Have been ruminating on how someone goes from being everything, to nothing. How can he tell the next one, after three decades of convincing the one who gave them everything, the same things he told me? I bet she’s the love of his life. The only woman who will ever get him. He’s soooo in love with her. She’s his love monkey. Hunk Lummox. Snooks. Baby bear….you get the picture.

Anyway, that’s been keeping me awake.

Which is stupid. Untangling the skein.

It’s BG’s birthday.

And I can’t kiss him. I can’t wake up spooning with him. I can’t make him his favourite morning indulgence, my buttermilk pancakes. It will be a minimum of two more weeks, I believe, before we can be together again. 😭

So the ache is harder to deal with. I get it.

I don’t fuck with you
You little stupid ass bitch I ain’t fuckin’ with you
You little dumb ass bitch I ain’t fuckin’ with you
I got a million trillion things I’d rather fuckin’ do
Than to be fuckin’ with you
Little stupid ass, I don’t give a fuck
I don’t give a fuck, I don’t I don’t I don’t give a fuck
Bitch I don’t give a fuck about you or anything that you do
Don’t give a fuck about you or anything that you doI heard you gotta new man, I see you takin’ a pic
Then you post it up, thinking that its making me sick
I see you calling I be making it quick
I’m insta that shit like I don’t fuck with you
Bitch I got no feelings to go
I swear I had it up to here, got no ceilings to go
I mean for real, fuck how you feel
Fuck your 2 cents if it ain’t going towards the bill
And everyday I wake up celebrating shit, why
Cause I just dodged a bullet from a crazy bitch, I
Stuck to my guns, that’s what made me rich
That’s what put me on, that’s what got me here
That’s what made me this
And everything that I do is my first name
These hoes chase bread, aw damn she got a bird brain
Ain’t nothin but trill in me, aw man silly me
I just bought a crib three stories that bitch a trilogy
You know I’m rolling weed that’s fuckin’ up the ozone
I got a bitch that’s textin me she ain’t got no clothes on
And then another one text, and your ass next
And I’m gonna text your ass back like “I don’t fuck with you”I don’t fuck with you
You little stupid ass bitch I ain’t fuckin’ with you
You little dumb ass bitch I ain’t fuckin’ with you
I got a million trillion things I’d rather fuckin’ do
Than to be fuckin’ with you
Little stupid ass, I don’t give a fuck
I don’t give a fuck, I don’t I don’t I don’t give a fuck
Bitch I don’t give a fuck about you or anything that you do
Don’t give a fuck about you or anything that you doGot a million things on my mind
Executive deals online, limited amount of time
Chasing these dollar signs and you ain’t on your grind
[?] gonna find me up in the MGM casino in the D
[?] after the put on property
From the [?] of [?]
My niggas put murder missions
She choose him that’s her decision
Free my niggas in prison
On the phone with a bitch who can’t do shit
For a pimp but make a nigga hella rich
Got a blunt in my dental, goin’ H.A.M in a rental
On my way, to Sacramento, late night, Arsenio
I’m never sentimental, go hard or go home, listen
Barely Harley, I’m chromeless
You might end up domeless
I bet you shes into me, her cheddar shes giving me
I make a bitch stand out forever like the Statue of Liberty
Rest in pimp, Pimp C underground king of the south
I raise my Styrofoam up, and pour some drank in my mouth
Why you always coming around with bad news?
Say you want me to win, but hope I lose
Ass never rock with other niggas in the crew
But them niggas cool, it’s just thatI don’t fuck with you
You little stupid ass bitch I ain’t fuckin’ with you
You little dumb ass bitch I ain’t fuckin’ with you
I got a million trillion things I’d rather fuckin’ do
Than to be fuckin’ with you
Little stupid ass, I don’t give a fuck
I don’t give a fuck, I don’t I don’t I don’t give a fuck
Bitch I don’t give a fuck about you or anything that you do
Don’t give a fuck about you or anything that you doI got a new chick that I gotta thank God for
I got a new whip that I gotta thank a lot for
Yeah I got a lot but want a lot more
Yeah we in the building but I’m tryna take it to the top floor
I swear I hear some new bullshit every day I’m wakin’ up
It seems like nowadays everybody breakin’ up
That shit can break you down if you lose a good girl
I guess you need a bad bitch to come around and make it up
I guess drama makes for the best content
Everything got a bad side, even a conscience
Now you’re drinkin’ until your unconscious
Feel me when you get a fine bitch
Just don’t forget to read the fine print
Life got me meditating like I’m in the Himalayas
Keep it G with the L lit on me like the elevator
Yeah I know that karma’s too real so I hope you doing cool
But still stupid ass bitch I ain’t fuckin’ with you
Little stupid ass I ain’t fuckin with
I ain’t fuckin’, I ain’t I ain’t fuckin’ with you
I ain’t fuckin’ with you

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Well. Yesterday was fun!

I got up early to get my dogs to kennels, cattle shifted, fences set up for the weekend. I have a girls’ weekend planned.

On the island my Mum lived on.

Firstly, I stabbed my wrist with a rusty Stanley knife blade. It wasn’t large, or deep. But that blade was rusty.

As I rushed around, checking things off my to do list, throwing gear in a bag, whizzing around to my Dad’s with a small birthday gift, I thought, “wonder when I last had a tetanus jab?”

I got in the car and drove to the ferry, worrying I was gonna be late for the sailing I was booked on.

Made it with a few minutes to spare, so roared into a pharmacy near the wharf as the wound was by then swollen, sore and angry looking. I got a silver embedded Band-Aid, and popped it on. The tiny wound started seeping slightly as I crossed the Gulf.

Off the ferry, I went to my Mum’s old doctor. She’s been gone 20 years in July.

So weird.

I got jabbed, the wound was cleaned and dressed, antibiotics prescribed. All in time for me to pop over to the passenger ferry terminal to pick up my friends.

Sailing away from the wharf was actually a very odd thing. I haven’t been back to the island since my stepfather died. I was thinking it was for his funeral, but then recalled I came back with a car and trailer to move his (Mum’s) things out of his townhouse. Around eleven years ago.

And it was so odd. I can’t remember if Rog was with me shifting the stuff. I don’t think so. I remember him sitting, holding my hand, during Pa’s funeral. I spoke at his funeral. I recall parts of what I said. He was a lovely man, who loved my mother. After my father cheated on her with men, breaking her heart. She found deeper, truer love with Pa. I was grateful to him for how much he loved her, the fun they had. The joy he restored to my darling, bubbly, vivacious Mum. I recall saying, “the best thing a father can do for his children, is love their mother” – all while looking oh-so-lovingly at Norm – “and that is even more poignant in the case of a stepfather.” I thought I had the most loyal, loving, amazing man. Who adored me as much as I utterly adored him. When I think about timelines now, this would have either been close to him fucking Leanne, or during the beginning of his secret life with her. FML.

A very close – in the process of divorce from a repeat offender cheater, like Roger – friend asked me the other day how it was going with BG. I had to stop and breathe a bit. What do I say? I love him. I realise I would feel sad if he wasn’t in my life. But also, that I wouldn’t be totally devastated, like I am about Rog. BG is a lovely man. But he is not “the love of my life.” So I told her that. That I’m lucky. I am with a very darling man, but that it isn’t … like I thought it was. This love is more restrained. Not as fully involved. He isn’t my heart.

It’s a tough weekend. Opening weekend of the duck hunting season. This was usually a big time. My son has moved overseas, so I don’t have him staying as he has done the past three, as he split his time between me and his Dad’s maimai, with our lifetime friends, who I no longer see. My heart breaks over that. We girls sometimes went on girls’ weekends too. I recall Roger’s best mate, H, and other bestie, S’ partners (H’s first cheating wife, P, and S’s current partner, A) and I went to the beach when P and I had a small daughter each. Poor A got terribly carsick, we had to pull over for her to spew on the way to the beach.

The other of the shooting foursome’s wife, J, is a total babe. Been there for me throughout this horrific divorce. We’d usually organise something nice together, and head to the maimai on the Sunday evening, for drinks and nibbles with the boys.

This was my life for 31 duck seasons. It was like Christmas for Rog. He lived for this, and deer stalking season, “the roar.” Especially when we were young. I was supportive, never once complained, and went into the bush with him just a small handful of times. This was “male bonding” at it’s zenith.

This year, it will be Trinket in my place. Again.

It hurts. Aches so, so badly.

I had a cry on the ferry. I didn’t anticipate how emotional I would feel, going to the island, without either Biddy (my kids’ name for her) or Pa there.

So, the day also was concerning, as BG did not message me good morning. He was fully MIA. I messaged, but saw it was unread. We always say good morning and goodnight. By the time I got to the ferry, at 1.30pm, I was concerned. I had tried calling his mobile. Then his work. Three times. Three times I was cut off before answering. Gotta admit, I started thinking, shit, what if he’s dead at home, by himself, and no one knows??? So, I sucked up my, I’m not a weirdo vibe, and rang his sister.

She knew nothing, but said, “oh, he’s a man, they’re terrible at communicating.” I laughed it off, but no. Not this man. Ever since I met him, he has messaged me good morning, every single day. Not missed even once. This was unusual. And I had started to get a little bit concerned.

Thankfully, he called me from an unknown number a bit later. Turns out the whole town had a telcom shutdown on the network his mobile, internet, and work landline are on! They’d finally provided him with a competitor’s mobile to get work done. Worse, he’d walked into work, to a river flowing through the club! A major water leak in pipes in the concrete floor.

Fun times.

I felt terribly guilty, here drinking expensive champagne with my girls as he deals with that. This is our first weekend apart, in … I think forever? And yeah, I miss him. A lot.

Anyway. We went to a fantastic restaurant last night.

The food was divine. I had oysters and octopus. Perfection. We polished off three bottles of the good stuff over the afternoon and evening. I was trying to be a bit sensible, being on antibiotics. My wrist is sore and throbbing.

Today, markets, then vineyards and a good long walk. I’m going to visit my Mum’s house that she built with Pa. A really weird thing being back here, where I spent so much time with young kids…it really is a lovely piece of paradise. I know why Mum loved this place and community so much.


Conversations with my partner in crime

For the first real time since Roger had the affair with Leanne, I have felt supported.

BG runs a very busy hospitality business. With very needy clients, members and staff. And I have never liked to be a needy person. Am fiercely independent. I hate feeling like a burden. Always have. My life has always been about what I can give. And I have learned that I need to be open to others giving to me more.

With my busy, busy work, sick Dad, kid in ED, another kid needing a ride to the airport, and hungry animals, BG stepped up.

I spent 3am until 10.30am in hospital with the youngest. He offered to drive me, but I was happiest he was home for Dad. He got up, let the dogs out, fed the stock and horse, cooked Dad breakfast and ensured he was okay and had his “second breakfast” of pills, and got the eldest to the airport in time for her morning flight.

I haven’t had that support in years.

I admit, I felt lacking, because I wasn’t doing it all.

But also hugely grateful.

He just said, “you do loads for me. This is me being a partner, being there for you. This is what we are for each other now. I’m not letting you get away. I know that your ex, no matter what you think, will always know you were the one that got away.”

I don’t think so. He thinks he has his perfect woman now. It was never me 💔

My youngest took this of us at the restaurant last night.

Before she went out and got hurt!

Lord, do I loathe photos!



My rapist now holds a position high up in an industry I am strongly connected to.

Tonight, on the national TV news, he was named as not wanting to make a comment or appear on camera when industry participants need an answer re: Covid-19 decimation of this industry.

Roger knew who he was. He would have held me, helping me with the shock of hearing his name. All that shared history. All the things he knows about me.

Of course, BG doesn’t, and never will. I haven’t shared that I was brutally raped as a 20 year old virgin, requiring internal and external stitching to repair my body. Every detail of what he did to me flashed through my mind in a still shot slideshow

Watching the item, my blood ran ice cold at the mention of his name. And I broke out in a cold sweat. I moved away from BG, busying myself.

That fucking raping coward. He hasn’t changed one bit.



And the winner is…

Regional Business Awards. I’m the general manager for a small rural business.

And not into awards.

However, my boss entered us into the awards this year to benchmark her business. And we found the process quite fun and made the finals!

Last night was the Gala Dinner.

A black tie affair, which we took the whole team to. Including my flatmate, and former long term employee, who has recently taken another progressive role on, but is a much valued and loved member of our work whanau. None of us expecting much other than a free dinner and a bit of team bonding. The bank manager and his wife joined our table, too.

And we won our category! Wow! Up against slick, much larger businesses, we won the service business category. We had been told by the judges we should have also entered the innovation and sustainability categories. Which we did consider an encouraging sign at the time of judging.

It was an early announcement during the evening, so much celebration time was available. Meaning champagne, mostly!

I was sober driving some of the team, so abstained and observed the evening’s nuances. Feeling weird, all dressed up in figure hugging green velvet and gold heels…my team, usually found in dirty polo shirts and gumboots, gleaming in their evening best.

At one stage, the well oiled bank manager and my boss’s husband called me over.

Bank manager: “did you grow up in (name of Hicksville village)?

Me: “sure did. Why?”

BM: “oh, do you know ND?”

ME: “Sure do. Fabulous family.”

BM to boss’s husband: “shall I tell her what he says about her?”

Boss’s husband (we’ll call him WL) laughs his witchy laugh very loudly (honestly, it’s something else!)

BM, quite well along the beer trail, “I’ll say it. He says you’re a good cunt. Top notch. One of the best.”

Me, laughing: “okay, that’s … nice? Not sure he knew me that well!”

This guy had two much older siblings, both doctors now, who were good friends with my two younger brothers. Spent a lot of time at our house as children.

BM: “were you ND’s year at school?”

Me, head back, chortling: “hardly! He’d be at least ten years younger than me!”

Good lord. What are we like? Rural AF! (Banjo plays loudly in the background…)

My boss was over the moon. The workaholic and her husband beamed all night long. And she told me she had just put through another pay rise for me this week. So appreciated. I’m already up there salary-wise on the scale for the role. Kind of felt I’d hit a ceiling, that paying me more starts to look a bit ridiculous.

BL sat with me, hugging me hard, and said, “Paula, this award is for you. What you put in. What you have endured, how you have come through this awful, awful fire. You know me. I still can’t attend funerals (her fiance was killed not long before they were to be married, several decades ago) and I have seen your deep, deep grief. I saw your beautiful love story. And him fuck you over so badly. You are rising, as I knew you would. I’m so damn proud of you.”

I choked up. And said thank you.

And for the first time acknowledged what I knew she already knew.

“It nearly killed me.”

BL: “I know.”

Then, “he messed up. Big time. Lost the best. Messed you up. He’s a loser, and I’m so glad we still have you here with us, I think I know some of your grief. Mine was less than two years, not thirty, and I didn’t have to watch Jamie walk off with another woman. I can’t imagine how hard that is. Seeing him with someone else.”


I appreciate my work family. We try to have fun. We work damn hard, long hours with high stress.

Boss Lady and Witchy Laugh insisted we go out in the city after awards. So, we went to dodgy nightclubs and danced.

And folks, I’ve still got it!

The ability to attract ALL the creeps and weirdos. I had one particularly persistent 12 year old pesting me most of the night. Trying to buy me drinks, engage in conversation, grind up against me on the dancefloor, finally treating me to a full noise, middle of the d-floor break dancing display 🤦‍♀️ lucky me, huh?!!!

I was cold, but polite, eventually telling him bluntly he wasn’t gonna get his trophy MILF that night, move along, go home to mummy little boy.


I really do attract the worst guys.

Eventually WL asked me if I was okay, did he need to have a word.

And the music, the loved up, sexy lyrics, watching people all full of booze and loved up (even BL and WL, ewww 🤢) made me incredibly sad.


My love story included much celebration. Many nights connecting with our eyes across a crowded dance floor (my friend J still goes on about the electricity we emitted at parties between us, cool, awesome, thanks J, it was all lies) some bumping and grinding. And falling into bed to make hot, sweaty love until morning.

Now he hates me. That intense passion, turned towards me as hatred. I feel his loathing every day.

All bullshit now. Now he does all that loving, sexy shit with his Trinket now. The replacement.

While my eldest sleeps under his roof this weekend. Politely chit chatting with Trinket. They have S’s partner’s sister’s wedding in the region today.


I went to the loos in the club and threw up. Stone cold sober.

And drove everyone home around 2am. Seriously over it all.

It still hurts so much.

Ooh, Ooh
My tongue is sealed within my mouth
These certain words they can’t come out
These thoughts are walking on their own
Dancing around with no control
I know what I did to you was wrong
Hence why I’ve kept it for this long
Secrets have been brewing up a storm
Did not expect it to transform
Soaked up in my brain
For another day
These things I’m tryna say get drenched and swept away that’s the truth
Soaked up in my brain
Don’t know what to say
Something about you boy you soak up half my brain, yes you do
Ooh, ooh, something about you boy you soak up half my brain
You look at me like I hit you, ooh
Stole all your things then left you bruised, ooh
Look what I’ve got myself into, ooh
My words are stuck, my body too, ooh
I know