Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Just got my colposcopy appointment. Dated 28/7/22. Arrived today. 8/8/22. Appointment is for 16/8/22.


You have to use oestrogen cream for 14 days before your appointment. FFS. Fucked already.

Obviously they saw my history and bumped me up from the six months originally mooted.

Cancer recurring is really cool fun. Thanks Norm. You’re the fucking best.

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Hit the north

We drove up yesterday morning. After I did the rounds at 6am.

The last heifer to calve had a pair of monstrous feet protruding.

I moved them in the dark, and went back to the barn, to get my calving chains. This was probably gonna be a vet job. I no longer own a calving pulley.

I was right.

Lovely girly walked quietly from my furthest paddock to my wee portable set of yards. I called the vet, who had a half hour drive to mine. I fed and prepped for the vet’s arrival with a cup of tea.

I had a nail appointment at 7.30am, but called my friend, the nail tech, and let her know not to leave early from her home in a nearby town, I wasn’t going to make it, and we needed to hit the road by 9am.

The lovely vet who synchronised these heifers was on call. She gave a quick epidural and was thrilled when the calf was born alive. Said she’d had a shit week dragging out dead calves.

Wee, new mumma was up nicely, licking him clean. These girls are lovely and quiet, I scratch them every day in the paddock, and she was able to give her a jab of butocin a few minutes later, standing freely in the yard. Good girl. Calf got a steroid jab to help his swelling subside.

I was worried about leaving, knowing his head and tongue were swollen. Hoping he’d be able to latch on soon. I left my inexperienced brother in charge! He worked from home in the afternoon, checking on them, ensuring he had a feed. So grateful. I got pictures and updates of him, his slightly dripping navel, the heifer’s sucked udder, all day, postpartum care, second to none! He’s up at at ’em this morning, slightly retracted in one front leg, but walking, clean, warm and full tummy.

Only my 4 year old cow to calve. The maiden heifers all safe and sound. Phew! Later that afternoon, my cow, Edwina, popped a beautiful heifer out, that was leaping around only an hour later!

Anyway, we got on the road at 9.15am, which was awesome. With the new expressway, we were in South Auckland (Takanini off ramp) only an hour later!

We had a pretty good run with traffic, stopping at Wellsford for a bite to eat, and arriving in Kerikeri around 2.15pm. I did a bit of new business admin while BG drove. A beautiful day to drive to the sunny north!

We checked into our accommodation, rehydrated and stretched our legs with a wee bushwalk, the track behind our cute and cosy studio unit. Then we headed into the town centre to BG’s friends’ Mandy and Paul’s new clinic.

It’s utterly gorgeous. Inside and out.

They’ve been in operation just over a year, and we came up to pick their brains about fitout, etc. Mandy is a new star in the franchise. A flight attendant her whole career, she made the decision at the beginning of the pandemic to find another source of income. They sold their home, their rental property, and moved up here. They threw everything they have at this, and are renting a lovely place by the sea with their two teenage girls. Paul has backed her all the way.

Just as BG is backing me. It was him that insisted on us coming up here this weekend.

We did a thorough clinic tour, talked about how much autonomy you’re allowed (not much, but more than we first thought) and where we can save money, and still get a great result (moulded skirting boards, anyone?)

Then, we headed down to a bar and restaurant by The Stone Store. Had one too many wines and a bar snack, back here to bed! My head is a little dusty this morning. Anyway, Mandy wants to take me on a hike to one of the local waterfalls soon. Boys are playing golf. I’m heading out to the must visit local chocolate factory to purchase a few treats, and some nearby local olive oil and visit the wee factory nearby that makes a really good line of natural skincare, before I meet up with her. Oh! And the fabulous markets!

What lovely people. And how damn lucky am I that BG has friends in this business, to help me on this journey?

Will try to remember to take some pictures!

All this time, my wee girl is sending me gorgeous Snapchat’s from Iceland. What a lovely life we have.

And Roger chose to throw this fabulous future away, for his beige mouse. She better be worth it!

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Didn’t make the final edit

There is a lot of grief involved with being cast aside, out of your own life.

So much grief, there are not words to describe it.

Today, I read this comment, that doesn’t explain the grief, but certainly describes my lived reality.

“My ex was a filmmaker and I came to see that basically he felt the same way about life as he did one of his movies. He’s the director, calling the shots, and he casts people in the various roles in his life. But when someone doesn’t say their lines correctly or perform their role to his satisfaction, he simply re-casts them with someone who will. His life continues on unchanged, much like a soap opera where they replace an actor and no one ever comments on it. The story just goes on as usual.

So I was in the “wife” role, but when I didn’t play it right (extra frustratingly, none of us are ever given the script) he simply replaced me with OW, who auditioned very hard for my role. I’m sure if he had lived, he would have eventually gotten tired of her “mistakes” (i.e. being a human individual and not his robot) and re-cast her as well, on and on ad infinitum.

I think that’s also a reason why these people so often come back to their exes. They honestly don’t see anything outside of themselves, so it doesn’t occur to them that people have their own lives. Clearly the ex is simply waiting for a callback to reprise his or her role.””

I was recast.

My role wasn’t real, despite me thinking, planning, believing, loving, that this was my life.


That my one true love felt absolutely the same about me.

And some of the flying monkeys, bizarrely, just accepted the recast “wifey” in his soap opera, and didn’t mention a thing. The agony of knowing that “our” friends, many of thirty years, some my lifeling “friends,” were going to dinner with him and that whore, just a week or so after I even knew of her existence, and was still sharing a bed with him, sure he’d come to his senses, was a next level mindfuck! They really came out of the woodwork! Rubber neckers. What did he replace Paula with??? Oh that. Okay. Nothing to see here….fucking crazy!

I know now that I was just being directed. He has others, who cane before (during, after..) me that he feels the same way about.

I wasn’t ever special. I’m just somebody he used to know.

Whereas he was the love of my life. (Yeah, except he wasn’t. I don’t get to have one of those, apparently.)

The same script these guys all use.

Idolise. Devalue. Discard.

I’m on the scrap heap of his life. Used. Rubbish. Of zero value.

The rebuilding is lifelong. Trying to revalue yourself. I don’t know if you ever truly get there really.

The scars are so very deep and painful.

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Fakebook and friends

So, when BG waa chatting with me last night, he mentioned that Ingrid – sitting over from him – said my cow and calf videos were super cute.

And he asked how come he hadn’t seen any videos? I had just posted a reel on Instagram and earlier, a story on Facebook of the calves chilling out with their mums in my house paddock.

I just replied, “oh, well, we’re not friends on Facebook.”

No drama. Just that’s where the videos she saw were.

He fairly sarcastically went, “oh, that’s telling me, isn’t it.”


No, it wasn’t.

I just stated a fact.

I kinda like that neither of us have “friended” each other on social media. It ensures we are private about “us.” I don’t feel it is a slight. I know he said near the beginning that it’s not really his thing. I also know he has nothing to hide there as we have mutual friends, including my daughter. It seemed a bit strange that he felt I was having a dig at this status when I have never requested we be friends there, nor complained/mentioned it.

Might need to talk about this… I’m not a needy, insecure girlfriend. Well, any insecurities I have these days are not about him. All Roger.

Social medua is all well and good, if used with discretion, with your tongue firmly planted in your cheek. I like to keep up with friends and family this way. But it’s not the measure of the success, or other, of our relationships. I’ve seen plenty of Fakebook posts by betrayed spouses raving or boasting about their relationship/posting lovey dovey pictures, to put any weight on what is peesented online.

Hey, I was madly, deeply, passionately in love, for over thirty years, with a man who posted online that he was single, to attract affair partners. What the hell does the internet know anyway?

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I don’t know how to write this

BG is with his mates tonight. The ones who have made the tough, but brave decision to sell their dream home.

Their forever home.

In order to exit a declining business, with their equity and investments intact. To employ other income streams, in his field, in hers, and to capitalise on their town’s magnificent location by offering accommodation in a house they have looked at and hope to buy.

He video chatted with me, without me knowing he was there, which started out a bit awkwardly as I had a freshly showered dog on me, lol.

I have FOMO. Wish I was there.

So badly.

But we have committed to having them come stay here during open home weekends and especially the night of the auction. It is happening in my neighbouring city. We will celebrate (or commiserate) hard.

I’m so proud of them.


So clever

It’s the ultimate mindfuck. You literally think you might be going insane.

So sneaky.

So clever.

To have someone who loves you very deeply convinced of how fabulous you are, when you’re really a shitty person.

And if my attention was elsewhere, he’d do something hurtful. Break something. Find a new woman to fuck. That kind of thing….

I’m fairly convinced he wasn’t even aware he did this. During our counselling, I started to realise how his behaviours were never examined by him. He never thought, “why did I do that,” about anything. Just quite selfish. I did it because it felt good.

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Oh, Daddy!

Remember my friend, L?

My sweet mate who sadly followed me down this awful path. A cheating husband.

Who cheated again after a devastating affair several years before. He left her for his new Schmoopie, during our Level 4 lockdown in April/May 2020.

L has struggled, but unlike me, it wasn’t about losing her love. Her person. She didn’t love him anymore. But she did stay, and did expect renewed fidelity and honesty going forward. Her struggle has been financial (he earned at least 6 times what she does) and finding a new life path.

And she has been incredibly gracious. Never bad mouthing him, keeping in  touch with his family when they wanted that, and encouraging the kids to stay in touch with him. They have all decided they are not very interested in him. They have two still at university, and the eldest is an engineer, and he and his partner live nearby. The two younger kids have a small amount of contact, both are at universities in the South Island. The middle is a 4th year med student, youngest, 2nd year engineeering student. Med student has a partner down there. Youngest comes home every holidays. Daddy Dearest met him at a mall last holidays, and he was home again an hour and a half later! L thought they were gonna hang out and do stuff together.

Nope. Quick bite to eat in a food hall. Home.

A couple of weekends ago, during the international rugby test in her city, he drunk texted their daughter. Told her he has a form of leukemia.

But that her mother didn’t want them to know.

She screenshotted the conversation and sent to to her mother. “WTF? Is this true?”

L was calm, but utterly FURIOUS.

“Yes. He has had this for ten years. It’s manageable, not terminal at any point so far. He gets checked and tested regularly. Oh, and BTW, he didn’t want to tell you guys. I did! But I respected his wishes.”

It got better. Apparently his recent bloods were the best they have been the whole time, and he now only needs annual checkups with his specialist, not six monthly. FFS.

Daughter rang him and yelled at him to stop being such an attention whore. Stop with the constant sad sausage bullshit, Dad! You left. This is your choice! And you did it in such a shitty way. During lockdown, when I couldn’t even go and be with my mother, to comfort her, while you were getting your knob polished by Schmoopie! You arsehole!

Sad sausage reply, “oh yeah, I guess the timing wasn’t great. But I only stayed for you kids.”

Daughter hung up on him.

I asked L if she has ever told them about the previous affair.

And for the first time, she smirked. “I’m keeping that card to play as a trump if I ever need to one day.”

She has not played games. Nor been angry or bitter. More a bit beaten down.

Next, she said, “I NEVER want to speak to that POS ever again.”

That’s a first.

She’s been so reasonable. So kind.

It’s a turning point. She’s found her backbone. And I get it. It takes some time, some healing.

I always thought I’d always be best friends with Roger. No matter what. But these guys…they just cannot see things from any other perspective than their wandering dicks. K, L’s ex, has cheated before. Several times. I’m fairly sure he’s never been cheated on.

Roger was apparently cheated on, but still couldn’t relate to what he did to my psyche. I often wonder how he’d be if I did what he did to me, to him.

And I’ve come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t care.

He never loved me like I loved him.


Five years

My oldest friend, my former BFF, sent me this today.

Yes, it’s a truly awful photo.

But, it means it is five years minus a week since my life imploded.

I took myself off to my daughter’s city for a few days, and on my return, I told Roger I was healed, that thesis, that research, that hard slog, was my healing from his long affair with his ex GF, my supposed friend, completed.

And he told me he was leaving me.

For some widow he’d met on Match. FFS!!!

I had no idea.

He’d told me how much he loved me – forever – how proud he was, this day, five years ago.

All bullshit.

He’d been hooking up with other women, via the online dating apps for at least two years. The entire period of my Masters research. Including during our romantic trip to Argentina. A couple who’d never been able to afford travel, we’d started. It was awesome.

But all bullshit.

This makes me really emotional.

I had terrible dreams, and little sleep last night. All of Trinket in Roger’s long, lean arms. Him telling her how much he loves her, how he’ll never hurt her, how she’s the only woman for him, soothing her. I woke and vomited 🤢

Yep. Five years later, he can still make me spew.

I hope that bitch realises he has done all that soothing, given all those kisses before. That he convinced me he’d changed. This is his pattern. I’m sure he told Leanne all the same soothing, gentle bullshit.

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Trauma. How not to repeat the mistakes of the past


I need to make good decisions going forward. I know my trauma caused so much indecision previously. This meant I stayed, in good faith, and got further abused.

I always thought I was strong, and fairly intelligent.

But I stayed. Thinking I could fix things. If only I tried even harder. Loved him as much as ever. I really did love him very, very deeply. That he would see my efforts and “reward” them with deep, faithful love.

Yeah, right. Dumbass.

I felt like the weakest, most stupid person.

But, trauma makes you this way. Rog never understood or accepted that I was deeply traumatised by his actions. By his lies. By his making my life’s work, love and commitment a farce.

I AM strong, and do have half a brain. Apparently. Validated for me by the academic achievement. It’s pretty sad that I needed that, and I’m very aware that there is “book smart,” and “street smart.” But I did need a way of saying to myself, you’re not as stupid as you seem. So, one man made a fool of you. But that was because you gave yourself to him. You trusted him implicitly.

Never again.