Life tends to throw me a number of curved balls and I’m usually quite good at ducking under or jumping over them. But this last week has been rather a bumpy ride. With good news and bad news in equal measure and leaving me considering my position again…and no! I don’t mean the missionary before you ask.
Having been looking forward to my Irish fix which didn’t happen. (Family visits and University problems got in the way) I had a rather flat week ahead and stress levels were quite high. Shame that I hadn’t seen Irish nothing like some delicious rampant sex to remind you of your place in the Universe and realign your Karma. There were others that wanted to see me but I just couldn’t quite bring myself to go there at the moment. I was feeling a little under par and needed familiar territory where I could just be me and not have to make an effort.
The workplace was dull and quiet and this was not a good sign as we were already in a negative place for the year and it was just getting worse. My best friend was still very ill from her suspected Pneumonia and was worrying me considerably. I had a few family concerns too and was generally feeling anxious and having trouble sleeping.
On the good news front, the book was taking shape and it was very exciting to see it as a virtual book and know that soon people could buy the real thing. I was nervously waiting for a hard copy to arrive so I could proof it and couldn’t wait to see it at last as a proper book. The Amazon thing “Create a space” seemed really easy to use and I was finding my way around. Then of course having announced that the book was coming I was filled with insecurities about it.
I was confident that it would make a good read having tested the water with Autonomy and getting opinions on the odd chapters. But of course the problem was that as it was about me I was putting out very intimate and personal information. Anyone could read about my antics which of course was the point. But my very honest, as it really happens approach may shock some and disgust others. I certainly wouldn’t want my sons reading it and my daughters would have to be spoon fed some of it and my Mother will hopefully remain in blissful ignorance.
It’s not that I am in any way ashamed of my life. I was more ashamed of being such an idiot in both by marriages. For being too forgiving, for putting up for too long with infidelity and domestic violence, stress and deceit. Now that is where the real shame lies. But having been used and abused I was determind to live my life from now on my own terms. If that doesn’t sit well with everyone then I’m sorry but I’m afraid it’s just the way it is.
It’s not all fun and games, as I have said in previous blogs getting attached to a much younger man is an emotional wasteland and needs avoiding. But it goes with the territory. Just as periods of absence, unanswered texts and unreliability does. But I’m not living day-to-day in emotional turmoil, hoping that the monster in the attic will be in a better mood. Scared to speak or sing in case I get told to shut up. Afraid to be too good at my job or enjoy myself too much in case I am seen to be the better half. Being hyper-vigilant on who he’s texting, where he is ..Searching all the time for clues to his bad behavior and never finding anything but just having that gnawing feeling in your stomach that you are missing something.
Instead you have fun days out and enjoy everything you do. You answer to no one and ask permission of only your own conscience. You are adored (be it all in small doses) and have an amazing and exciting if not complicated sex life. Once in doors you are able to relax and do whatever takes your fancy. Cook if you want to, dance if you choose too, play your music loudly with no-one coming in moaning and turning it off mid tune. You can dress how you like without that disapproving stare and that says “You’re not going out like that are you?”
But life moves on and we just have to make the best of what we are left with. It seems some of us move off in the more conventional directions. I heard this week of one engagement and one wedding. Firstly one of my more favoured toyboys, one that I had spent a lot of time with in my early single days has apparently got engaged to his long-term girlfriend. A friend divulged the news to me and I sighed and replied “that’s nice” but feeling quite sad inside. It was of course inevitable and I knew that he wanted a normal family life and children and quite rightly so, he was a lovely guy and deserved it, if that’s what he wanted. I am sure that he will make a great husband and probably a damn sight better than either of my choices. But when those choices were made I was in a place of hope and love. Sadly for me both the hope and the love did not stay the course. But I wish him well. Really I do.
So I was not surprised to find out that my newly Ex-husband had married “her next door” aka horseface a few weeks ago. She was now the new Mrs. G.Evans and I was the older version and still using the name. To say this irritated me would be an understatement. I was angry. Very angry. Not because I wanted him back heaven forbid not before hell freezes over, but because it was so predictable and left him sitting pretty.
I had said all along that once she got her Divorce settlement it wouldn’t be long before he whipped her up the aisle by her reigns and here I was proved right. Yes but, I hear you say it may just be that they are deeply in love and wanted the world to know. Well seeing as the children involved didn’t get to find out until after the event and by a bloody phone call I doubt that. But they have tied everything will a neat bow and now my sons meager inheritance is in jeopardy. All that hard-earned cash that I worked for and he fleeced off me. The fact that they are probably mortgage and stress free having left most of their families behind without a second thought makes me want to murder someone.
As usual I am left dealing with the sharp end and working my arse off so pardon me if I just feel that sometimes there is no justice in the world and feel the need to have a rant. Shame about the name thing though. He wanted me to change mine back. Ha! Tough. The fact that he wants me to means I never will plus which one would I use? I have two others besides Evans and I still live with his son and feel it would be disloyal to change.
Maybe when the book is published I should send a copy off to “Christmas Fucking Cottage” even the bloody name is perfect URGHH!. I’m sure he would be interested in reading the prologue! I’ve changed his name of course. He is called Max and why? Because he took the MAXimum piss out of me for years. Let’s hope the new Mrs. G. Evans is given the same treatment. I’m just off to kick the dog!
