Week 4...and the rest...

Week 4

Mindful Monday.

I wake up every morning and the first thought that comes in to my head is; what am I going to do? WHERE AM I GOING TO LIVE IF I HAVE TO LEAVE THE HOUSE? Neither of us knows where we’re going, but then we didn’t seem to know where we were going anyway. There was no malice involved…Pollyanna married the Prince of Darkness ….and it just didn’t work out…

Therefore, in keeping with the recommendations in self-help books 1 and 3, which I am following religiously, I have joined a Meditation class. The answer to everything, apparently, is learning how to be “in the moment”. This plus the Wednesday yoga class and 3 sessions per week in the gym should keep me calm and “grounded”. I suppose I could nail my feet to the floor and that would keep me even more “grounded”.  It would make getting to work a bit awkward though.

OMG! I got thrown out of the meditation class. Not my fault! What happened was this; the instructor decided to do a “Movement Meditation”. This involved all 18 of us, men and women, walking as slowly as physically possible, in whichever direction our feet took us, up, down and across the sports hall, in slow motion. No talking, no noise.  All round me people were lifting their feet and putting them down excruciatingly slowly, with heads lowered and arms swinging loose. Then it hit me; “Night of the Living Dead” – we looked like Zombie Prom Night as we criss-crossed each other in the School Hall. So then of course I had a fit of the giggles – ok I was shrieking with laughter - involuntarily. It was just so funny…

We had to file back into the meeting room, and resume our places in the circle of chairs. I apologised and explained… I couldn’t help it, I started laughing again. What could I say? It’s not my fault that I have a mind like a grasshopper. So then it was suggested (very, very calmly) that perhaps I wasn’t yet ready to commit to a ten week course in meditation.  So that’s it. I’m barred. I did learn from it though….I found out that it’s not so much that my mind wanders…it’s that it’s very seldom at home.

Red-rag-to-a-bull Letter Tuesday

The first legal document comes today in the post. A draft “Separation Agreement”.  My stomach is churning. He says my solicitor has issued the wrong thing; he points out that it doesn’t mention “divorce” anywhere and is titled in large letters “SEPARATION AGREEMENT”. I’m naively assuming that it’s correct, that maybe this step must be undertaken before we reach the divorce stage? He consults his legal advisor; it IS the wrong thing. Rang my solicitor; sorry, no, it wasn’t to be a separation agreement it was to be the divorce thing. Was there a misunderstanding? Ok. A divorce application will be drawn up. More paperwork. More stress. More stomach churning. And this is only the beginning.

 For supper I had an organic soya yoghurt and herbal tea. It was as boring as it sounds. Even the glow of self righteousness as I went to bed (early) didn’t make up for it.

Drink and Yoga Wednesday

The class started at 8 pm with a lit candle and deep breathing. By 9 I was surreptitiously looking at my watch, expecting it to read 10.30 at least. I stuck with it till it finally finished at 9.34 and thirty seconds.  Then ran out and hit the off licence on my way home. I’m really working very hard at this de-stressing and relaxing and going with the flow. God I’m worn out trying to improve myself.

Build-a-bridge Thursday

Played Bridge tonight. Trying to behave as if everything is normal. Nothing feels normal.. In a way it’s like how I felt 25 years ago, when the hospital doctor told me my father’s illness was terminal. I remember leaving the hospital.  I remember going round the supermarket wondering how everyone and everything could go on as if nothing had happened, when the world had spun on its axis. I feel the same now. Adrift. Certainties gone. Rocks shifting.

At the Bridge table, my head hurts. My scalp hurts. But- can’t let your partner down. Not the done thing. Wouldn’t like to anyway. Then I played so badly… Maybe I’m getting early onset dementia or something. I might as well have been playing “Snap”. Kept seeing little placards pop up in my mind saying “But…what if…what should I do…what will happen to me…” then I’d put the wrong cards down on the table.

Don’t let anyone tell you Bridge is a genteel game for ladies and gentlemen. It’s a blood sport.  It goes without saying that I, being a lady, would never be anything but polite and pleasant to partner and opponents; after all it’s just a game, and only good manners. A view not shared by all. I’ll say no more. Just wondering if I should go the police and say a man at the Bridge club said he was going to kill me…and strangely enough, it wasn’t my husband.

Right that's it

Right that's it. This is so not going to be a "He said she said...blah blah blah"...it's going to be a "Wait till I tell you what happened."  Ordinary, day to day life goes on for all of us regardless of whether we feel  the planets have stopped spinning -  for me or anyone else . Life  is life. That's it. Life is life, and stuff happens.  The blog will tell  you how I try to deal with it. Please, if you wish to, tell me how you deal with it. Life and stuff.  Week 4 coming next. x

Week 3

Soliciting Sunday

I have an appointment tomorrow with a solicitor. Better list the questions I need to ask.

1. Is there a way out?

2. Is divorce an option or do you have to have a legal separation first?

3. Is everything split 50/50 regardless, or is it negotiated?

4. How much does it cost?

5. How long does it take?

And…what happens with the house? Does it have to be sold? I can’t bear the thought of that. I’ve lived here 25 years. Ok the situation isn’t ideal, but it’s home, it’s my sanctuary. Besides, the Goldfish are happy in their nice pond in the back garden.

A friend calls and tells me that you have to be 5 years living apart and then it takes another 5 for the divorce to be final. That’s provided the judge grants the divorce in the first place.  If that’s the case, I’ll probably be a pensioner by the time it’s all sorted. Classic mistake – asking a friend. Who isn’t a lawyer.

Lawful  Monday

“I don’t know where to start”, I say – and then start by bursting into tears. “Let’s start with the basics”, the lawyer says. “Names, address, when you got married, and so on.” Half an hour later I leave, still snivelling. But I have answers. Divorce is available. It will probably take six months to a year to process. He is obliged to engage a different solicitor to advise him.  The services of a barrister will be required to draw up 2 pension amendment orders. The irony of this. We both have pensions which were small to begin with but with the craziness of the banking meltdown and the macho mismanagement of pension funds in particular, we would need to combine the 2 to buy a weekly newspaper. Maybe I could take up pole dancing at 65 and supplement my pension that way. If my back holds up.

The whole proceedings will cost approx. 2,000 Euros.   The draft petition to the Court will be drawn up by the solicitor. In the meanwhile, I must prepare an Affidavit of Means. So must he. So now 2 solicitors and the Family Law Court will be told of every cent I earn and spend- a detailed report of my medical expenses, food, petrol, and going out, everything. Earnings, bank account details – the lot. Backed up by payslips, bank statements, and utility bills….Just as well I don’t patronize porn sites or bookies.

Back home, himself queries why a second lawyer and barrister are necessary. It’s quite straightforward after all; no mortgage, no children. Assets split 50/50. I don’t see the need for all this legal palaver either, but it’s what the solicitor said had to be done. I state my wish to have sole custody of the Goldfish. He can have visitation rights. Hell he can take them to MacDonalds.   Maybe they can be fitted them with tiny oxygen masks and strapped to a skateboard.

Fried Rice Friday

The full coven is assembled for dinner in our favourite Chinese restaurant; Sisters,Nieces and me.  We chat, eat and send dishes round the table on the Lazy Susan. After dinner, the teaholics x 3 down 6 pots of tea. I stick to water; I’m not having wine as I’m driving.  Despite my recent bombshell, we are having fun. Sister 1, the non-smoker, teetotaller, non-swearer and regular church goer, is telling a story; apparently an unnamed lady was having fun on her own with a battery powered appliance, when the thing overheated and she got burnt where sunburn never reaches. So she screeched (as you would) ran to the kitchen, opened the fridge, flung the stuff off the shelf and sat on it. The tale is made even funnier by the euphemisms ladylike Sister 1 uses; the unfortunate pleasure seeker had suffered a burn “south of the border”. She had stuck her “private business” in the fridge. The rest of us are weeping with laughter. Niece 1 has her head on the table, her shoulders shaking. Sister 3 has tears streaming down her face. My sides are hurting.  Emboldened, I relate the unfortunate incident on Skype. They’re all in complete hysterics now. The coven leaves the restaurant having had a lovely dinner and much laughter.  I leave with a new nickname; “Skype and Flash”. That’s families for you.