Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Emotional pain is embodied.

I’ve never felt more intense physical pain than this emotional pain.

I just had a series of very bizarre dreams. But the weirdest one was at the end. More hyper real than the previous bizarre ones.

Trinket floated in (yes, like a ghost) and apologised for all the pain she has caused me.

Said she was ashamed of believing Roger. That slowly, his lies were revealed. That she recalled me saying we were not separated, that I was shocked and appalled at what he was doing with her, when I still loved him. That his love bombing of her blinded her to his lies, made her think I was the liar. She “forgot” what I told her, the pain in my eyes…

And my mind flashed back to the searing pain of reading a text he sent me, meant for her 🗡🔪🗡🔪

I felt a sense of calm. Of healing. And it was briefly soothing.

Strange thing to dream about after the dreams that preceded, about shootings, paranormal happenings, and supernatural creepiness.

I woke, prickling with sweat.

I wish the nightmares would end. So sick of them.


The dating app life

Oh, those on dating apps, who are in fact, NOT SINGLE!

Yep. Fun fact. Many of these people lie! Shock, horror!

When I read Roger’s profile on matchdotCON, I felt sick!

The lies he told. And the messages with all the other women…🤢🤮

What a lovely, lonely man he was.

Yeah, right!

Except he was still with me, the completely faithful, loving mother of his three adult children and I had been duped, was totally under the impression we were healing from his long affair with his cheating exGF 🤦‍♀️

And I even drove all the way to the AP’s city, to tell her in person, that HE WAS NOT SINGLE, I didn’t get that memo. I know I was in deep shock, and was probably far too “nice,” about it. As I left, we hugged, FFS!!!

It was so humiliating.

The messages I retrieved, and the ones I was sent by one of the OW. Bloody hell. I saw how I had been duped! This guy was an expert level love bomber. Far more subtle than you’d think. Sweet. Kind. Concerned. Not in your face, jewellery and flowers, more creepy. Because it sounded so genuine! My skin prickled, breaking out in a sweat when I read the words exchanged.

But I saw the patterns. He was telling them what he told me…fuck. That was painful. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t exclusively adored. I wasn’t the sexiest woman alive (well, d’uh!) I wasn’t the only love of his life! 🤣😢

I wonder how Trinket is able to live with all of this? Does she really believe him? I guess she is like me, vulnerable, and easy to lie to, soaking up all the bullshit like the unloved sponge her dead cheater husband made her. I actually feel sorry for her and the life she led. But that doesn’t excuse what she did to me.


All these dreams in my head

Been battling power problems since I got home from work. Patchy. Heat pump. TV. Water pump. The realised my WiFi was out. Router gone. Think maybe a phase gone on the street pole as a whole wall, my underfloor heating, and no fuses flicked.

Just tumbled into bed. Big day tomorrow…

And I’ve been having weird dreams lately. Stupid dreams.

That Rog and Trinket split up.

I think it’s because I have really got to the point where I am as healed as I am ever going to be, really. I miss my old Rog, I know I always will. My love who died the night he decided to climb into our daughter’s bed with someone I should never have trusted. But I trusted him with, despite my misgivings about her. I’m a dumbass. And, don’t worry. I am fully aware that he died, and was never coming back. I am pushing forward. Getting my life back. Doing really well, actually! Phew! So yeah, the stupid dreams, I think they’re a test. To see how meh I really am. If he hoovered, would I be okay?

In reality, he wouldn’t hoover, even if they weren’t together. Too proud! It would mean he made a mistake throwing me out with the rubbish. And Rog doesn’t make mistakes.

I would be. I really would be okay if he hoovered. Thank the lord. I mean, I still get shaky and panicky around him. But the reasons are different now. It took a very long time.

BG has a theory about the last two times we have seen Roger. He says he is totally scoping me out. To see if I am still available to him.

I have strongly disagreed. I think Rog just believes if we look chummy, and chatty, then it proves to the world that he did nothing wrong.

I dunno. I don’t know who this man is. I thought I knew my Rog inside and out. I never dreamed he’d hurt me. He was always so protective of me. I’m a rugged girl, not a princess, and he’d worry, gently berating me when he thought I was taking risks, or reaching “too high.”

It’s a strange thing to dream about, all these years later. But in the dream, Trinket came and found me. Asked to meet. And apologised profusely, and humbly. Said she really genuinely thought we were over when she started fucking my partner. Doesn’t know why she believed him. But she did. I suggested it was the hetero female version of cunt struck. Completely taken in by the expert level love bombing.

She was deeply ashamed of the part she played in the destruction of our family. Of my peace.

We became friends! Lol. Yeah, right.

Dreams are my brain’s way of processing what I often have struggled with while awake.

Thankful for my life. For the hard work I did to recover, both from the affair with Leanne, and the discard when he found another willing AP. Thankful that I’ve made good decisions since. Despite ill health, despite the fear and the agony.

This blog has been a lifeline. I’m so lucky.


The end of the world as we know it

DDay antiversary.

The worst day of my life. Things haven’t ever been okay ever since.

The first time I had a clue Roger is a cheater, was this day on the calendar.

The day the gutless bitch, Leanne, texted me she had been having an affair with him.

Whilst I was at a birthday party that I was going to drive her to.

Mind you, he was more gutless. Sacked her and pretended he loved me. Was never going to confess. To any of them.

It is a tough day. Every year. Better than the first year, but same as every one since then.

It was the end of the world as I knew it.

And in some ways, “I feel fine.”

But mostly, I just lost every bit of ability to feel at peace.

OverviewLyricsListenOther recordingsVideos

Main results

That’s great, it starts with an earthquake
Birds and snakes, and aeroplanes
And Lenny Bruce is not afraid

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
World serves its own needs
Don’t mis-serve your own needs
Speed it up a notch, speed, grunt, no, strength
The ladder starts to clatter
With a fear of height, down, height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games
And a government for hire and a combat site
Left her, wasn’t coming in a hurry
With the Furies breathing down your neck

Team by team, reporters baffled, trumped, tethered, cropped
Look at that low plane, fine, then
Uh oh, overflow, population, common group
But it’ll do, save yourself, serve yourself
World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed
Tell me with the Rapture and the reverent in the right, right
You vitriolic, patriotic, slam fight, bright light
Feeling pretty psyched

It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

Six o’clock, T.V. hour, don’t get caught in foreign tower
Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn
Lock him in uniform, book burning, bloodletting
Every motive escalate, automotive incinerate
Light a candle, light a motive, step down, step down
Watch your heel crush, crush, uh oh
This means no fear, cavalier, renegade and steering clear
A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies
Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline

It’s the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)
I feel fine (I feel fine)

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

The other night I drifted nice continental drift divide
Mountains sit in a line, Leonard Bernstein
Leonid Brezhnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs
Birthday party, cheesecake, jellybean, boom
You symbiotic, patriotic, slam but neck, right, right

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

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What a day!


I eventually got out of bed, after the barman messaged, saying he was on his way.

Went and shifted heifers, and set up electric fences for the next few days, fed the chooks, medicated my dogs (pain meds for the little one, daily asthma inhaler for the big one 😀) and was back to the house just as BG pulled into my driveway.

Still no proper kisses, my cold sores nearly healed, but ugh. I hate not being able to kiss his lips.

Shower, blow dry hair, off we went, towards my home town.

Road closure, detour, we got on course a bit later than we intended, but still plenty of time.

First people we see on course, as we make our way to the Secretary’s office? Norm’s bestie, H, and another mate, who are in the ownership of a horse with him. It’s still really awkward with him. Thirty plus years of friendship, and we are now awkward strangers.

“Hi H, this is funny, right?”

H replied, laughing, “sure is.”

Me, “good luck.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Walking into the raceday office, I asked for our owners’ tickets.

Now, BG’s surname has all the same letters as Roger’s! And our children’s. Think along the lines of say, Peters and Peterson. BG has a few more letters in the middle…

So, Muggins here asks for tickets for owners of [insert filly’s name here], [my surname.

And Roger’s surname.]

Faaaaark! 😱😱😱 The guy handing out tickets knows Rog and myself. No idea who BG is. He looked up at me, laughed nervously, and BG gives me a hard time, as I look completely mortified! The thing is, I could see the list of owners, and Roger had a horse in the same race, and his name was right below BG’s! Freudian slip fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!!!

Great start!

Into the owner’s bar area, a glass of bubbles to calm my nerves.

Then, horses about to enter birdcage, BG wants another drink. I go back inside, to buy one. Realise I have not got cash, and the races is one last bastion of cash here in NZ.

Over to the Secretary’s office, EFTPOS for a betting slip – they don’t allow cash withdrawals. Over to the tote, I hurriedly back our horse, and Roger’s horse as the only ones I know anything about, in a rush, taking a $10 quinella. Beer, phew, horses around at the start now, up to the member’s stand to watch the race.

Roger’s horse 1st. Ours, 2nd. Oh, FFS! I just won $620! I never used to bet, so this, and the place money for the bet I placed on our horse, and separate win money I put on Roger’s, in my betting account, and another winning bet, meant for a $40 outlay for the day, I took home close to $1000!

Gave H a big congrats! And hug.

Weird. We were once so close.

Then the editor of the national race form guide came over and thanked me for subscribing! WTAF? How weird. I know him. And I just renewed my subscription the day before. They must be struggling. Really odd. But kinda nice, too?

BG was still giving me stick.

For saying the wrong name.

Then, I doubled down on the “betrayal” by backing my ex’s horse! Lord! I took him into town, for lunch. My shout.

Of course, I see Roger’s wicked older sister. Can this day get any worse? Lol.

Driving home, over the back roads due to the detour, my fertiliser spreader rang. “Just in TA now, can I bring your load to do today, on my way home?”

“Sure, on my way home now, have some fences to wind up, and will unlock the road gate for you.”

Arrived home, quick change, my barman and I strode over the paddocks to wind up the fences I’d carefully erected that morning, and shifted the portable water trough out of the fert truck’s way, and opened the road gate. Just in time for the wee spreading truck to pull in.

My enormous 3.5 hectares, done for the autumn.

Back, to re-erect fences, and lock road gate, then off to the movies.

Home, chill, checking whether Covid suffering brother, isolating in the barn, needs anything, food? Cooked dinner. Roasted pumpkin for pumpkin soup tomorrow. Bed.

No sleep.

My brain is whirling.

I know the barman is never going to let me forget I called him by Roger’s surname! I have never done anything like that, in the three years (this week) that we have been seeing each other. I know it is in part, that I worry I will run into him. My panic was running my brain. Dammit.

The worst part for me is, I think BG knew it. Previously, I have hidden my trauma and panic far better. Except for the third time I had to see Rog, after he left. At our youngest’s 21st. One year and eight months after he ran to that cunt’s town, and dumped me, leaving me to deal with a completely shattered heart and life, and to fight the cervical cancer he caused, alone. I was panicking that day, as I thought the cunt was coming to my property, and I was trying to be cool, chill, not-at-all-fazed, for my daughter. It was early days of BG, and I wasn’t expecting him. He showed up, and calmly sorted looking after people, pouring drinks, serving food, chatting to people he’d never met, and directing them to the facilities, as I dealt with a water problem, meaning I didn’t wear what I planned, or do my hair, lol.

I am grateful. So very grateful for this man. This support. And I do feel terrible about the name mix up. I know he’s fine, having a laugh at my expense, but still! Why am I like this???

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Dinner with my little (23 year old!) girl last night. Delayed Mothers’ Day catch up. She had delivered boutique gin and gorgeous earrings on Sunday. From them all. I just cooked a chook, roasties and a rocket salad.

We talked. She’s having a rough time the last few days. An overthinking, anxiety suffering woman, we talk a lot. I try to ensure I just listen, only offering advice if invited.

Definitely jaded. Definitely affected by our split. Quite despondent about men, in general. I try to encourage her to realise that not all men are like her father. But she is seeing a lot of the entitled behaviour of men. Patriarchy in action. And her current boyfriend is reasonably on board with his own, and her needs, but not yet nailing communication.

If anyone ever really does!

It makes me hurt, seeing how she has been affected. I know she has zero respect for Roger, and contempt for Trinket. I can’t change that. I don’t talk EVER about them, with her. I wanted to know if her sperm donor got in touch any of the recent times he’s been up here, but didn’t. I steer well clear these days.

She’s been really messed up by his behaviour. I understand. I had the same experience as her, just a few years younger.

Serial cheating fathers do a number on us.

Like me, I guarantee my kids would swear they were fine.

Not affected whatsoever.

I thought I had it sussed, too.

Anxiety is one of the mental health issues we know can be caused, or at least exacerbated, by parental infidelity.

She saw me fighting so hard to heal from his affair with my friend.

And to see him do it again, after seeing the agony he caused then, it blew her mind.

She has zero respect for him. And I see that her eye rolls dismiss the whore he left us for as a total cunt.

I see how she is affected. Because I know her path. I’ve walked it, too.

Years later, and after some therapy meant to put a finger on my anxiety, my therapist explained that my father’s cheating had a huge impact on my childhood, which of course I knew, but she surprised me when she linked his infidelity to my anxiety today.

I told my father.

We were happy kids, dammit!

He definitely doesn’t think it affects me now. He says I’m fine, that I need to just calm down. I have a house, and great kids, a good job, a husband who loves me. I’m totally fine! He did his job!

I don’t fully trust my husband

A father is the first man a little girl trusts. He is the first man she loves and the first man to teach her about the love of a man. You’ve heard this all before. She believes in everything he says and every man that comes after him will be measured against him. But what if he’s good to his daughter, but not good to his wife?

What happens when the daughter of a serial cheater becomes a wife?

Not only did my father not hide his infidelities, but as I grew older, he shared his theories on why men cheat. The one that sticks out the most is a common excuse used by cheating men— if a woman is not giving her husband sex on the regular, he will go get it elsewhere. My father claimed to be telling me this to help me, so that it wouldn’t happen to me.

Looking back on it now, I believe he told me these things to convince himself that he was only doing what was natural, so that he wouldn’t have to face the very real fact that he was hurting his family.

I went out into the world believing that sex=loved. I gave myself over to a string of losers, thinking that as long as I did what they wanted, they would love me.

Guess what? They cheated on me anyway.”

Yup. I agree.

Just this week, my daughter fainted at work. She’s a slight girl. Always been little. Is a grazer. I have an anorexic niece, and I have watched my smallest kid, quietly, but like a hawk. She has pernicious anaemia, and watches her nutrition. Eats well, but grazes, rather than eats like a horse.

She was asked by her boss if they should be worried about her eating. She was mortified.

That said, I know weight is a touch point when your father is a cheater. I always felt overweight when I was with slim Rog. My curves were a daily fight for me. I hated my post baby body.

I constantly worry about my weight

Another one of my father’s theories for why men cheat, is that women get fat when they settle down. They stop taking care of themselves. Because of this, my mother would constantly try to find ways to have him validate her. She’d see an overweight woman cross in front of our car and she’d ask him if that’s how she looks (she never did). My father would laugh and assure her that she was nowhere near the size of that woman. My mother would lift her head and feel good all day at the expense of that poor woman who unknowingly crossed our toxic path. This happened a lot. It didn’t matter that my mother didn’t look like that woman, he still cheated.

So, it doesn’t matter how many times my husband assures me that he loves my curves, because of my father’s infidelity, I still wonder if my husband will leave me if and when I get too fat.

I know my mother felt this pressure, too.

Not thin enough.

Not pretty enough.

Not sexy enough.

Not clever enough.

Not wealthy enough.

Not good enough.

Not enough.

I love my kids. And I see the eldest ignore, or suck it up.

I was her.

She didn’t see what he did to me. She wasn’t there the night he knocked me out cold because I called him out on fucking his whore in my house. She is closer to her father than either of the others.

I get it. I see the varying degrees my brothers and I have tolerance for/relationships with, our cheating father.

But, selfish people will always be selfish people.

Roger never thought of consequences when he was desperately getting his dick wet in strange.

Not to him.

Not to me.

Certainly not to our kids.

He would never have thought or cared about how much damage he did. To this day, he would deny it.

Underplay it.

He’s a great guy, remember?

And Trinket is just a terrible person. Who didn’t give a fuck that I existed. That I loved him entirely. That I sacrificed for him because I adored him.

That our children believed he was sorry for his cheating, too.

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J came over yesterday afternoon.

She and I were the seniors.

The longest term partners of the duck shooting crew. I know she came to acknowlege that. That she misses me. It was really, really lovely. She stayed hours and hours and we chatted brightly. She caught me up on all the news of the long term friends and their families.

The people I had to largely leave behind when Norm left me. Many who have no clue where to place me in their lives now. Certainly none who have been able to empathise with my grief.

Sunday of duck shooting opening weekend are the days the WAGs get to go to the maimai in the afternoon.

She’s not going.

Her sister-in-law (who will be there) drives her nuts.

And she has nothing in common anymore with the women. I have no idea if cuntface whore, Trinket, will be there, but J made it obvious she’s not a fan. Just puts up with her, because that is who she is. I get that. I “put up” with her sister-in-law (second wife) for years, too.

She said she’d rather not go.

(I admit, I wondered silently if the boys always remember that Roger penetrated Leanne with his mate, Homer’s duck caller, one day in the maimai on our farm? Ewwww.)

Her husband rang while she was at my place. I think it was a little bit awkward? He knew she was with me, and we said hi to each other. Knowing the boys were there, behind him. He’s a gem to me, the only one who lets me know he still loves me.

He rang to let her know the duck tally. It was low, it’s been a very dry autumn.

And we laughed. About how that thankfully meant less wild duck to cook! I wonder what Trinket plans to cook with her share 🤣

I had a few great ways of using it. It’s not my favourite meat. Love a farmed duck, in fact BG and I had half a crispy duck for dinner the other night, delicious pancakes. But wild duck, bruised and full of shot. Not so much. Most of my favourite recipes involve a fair bit of spicy flavouring to lift the gaminess. Wild duck fajitas were a favourite way of getting my small children to eat it happily.

The recipes got more sophisticated as the kids grew up.

This afternoon, I’m going for a drink with an entirely different crew. At a far away location from the one I spent over thirty years laughing and drinking with on opening weekend. A basic maimai two hours away from the boys’ hunting lodge.

Funny how life circles back sometimes.


Gliding into the weekend like…

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.”

Ill Be Back Arnold Schwarzenegger GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

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’m not.

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.

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She trained you so well!


Writing out the hard conversation I had last weekend with BG niggled at this. Trinket told Roger that I “trained him so well.”

I nearly threw up when he told me that.

Like, great. Firstly, did she mean sexually? Like, wow, you’re so good at sex! Go Paula! Woop woop!

Or, was it more that apparently he’s a pet. Who a woman has to house train. Because men are stupid like that, right???

And it also pissed me off, no end. Because what a fucking terrible thing. To steal a partner off someone else, once they were “fully trained!”

Fucking cunt.

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The Marriage Police

After Leanne exposed Roger’s cheating, and he trickle truthed the hell outta the whole thing – I don’t remember, lies by omission, downplaying – I joined the Marriage Police for a while.

Was it really over? How long? Where and when did it start? Where and when did they hook up? Did he tell her he loved her? Was he planning on leaving us? She bought a wedding dress???!!! She told him she’d lost a diamond ring, but that was okay, because she’d be getting a new one soon 😉😱! How did he find the time???



Going through phone records. Matching historical events on the calendar.

It was horrific.

A terrible job, with really shitty/zero benefits.

When I found out about Trinket, all those skills I learned from my previous career in the Marriage Police resurfaced. Going through credit card and bank statements, line by line. Finding some of the online dating profiles and downloading the tens of thousands of messages to dozens and dozens of women 🤢

It’s bizarre! I thought I’d be, “when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Apparently not.

Apparently I’m a fuckwit.

It’s humiliating how hard I danced the pick me polka! I LOVED hom, how could he not see how truly wonderful I am??? How many decades of wonderful were invested? Had he forgotten we were now the much coveted empty nesters? The world was our oyster!

You can’t make a cheater not cheat. It’s who they are. They never stop. They just get better at hiding it.  Sometimes, with new supply, they seem madly in love for quite some time.

But they always have cheating as the fallback option. It’s an invisible threat. Toe the line, or else. I have super powers of cheating that will make you pull your head in if you displease me.

I’m so glad to have my head out of that blender. It makes you a bit bat shit. You question everything about what you know. You feel completely WORTHLESS. You do things that are completely out of character. It’s so damn desperate.

And completely miserable.

Trinket can listen to that noise now. Apparently it’s her favourite tune.

After all, she swapped one serial cheater for another. The difference being, this one is full of charm and loving words and physical affirmations of that “love.”

And she – like me – believes she’s special. That he loves her. Forever.

What a prize she prised out of my arms.