I’m feeling very flat today. Such a lovely time yesterday and maybe it’s partly that but more I think.
I think I am at an ending ......
I have been slowly selling stuff from the shed and I think I want to cry with the waste. Especially because the p prat elsewhere compared me with trump. As if he was the one who worked hard, earned the money, did the cooking, cleaned the house or paid for a cleaner, paid the gardeners, supplied the super fund for him to gamble with, had the big house in Surrey hills in the first place or the investment property, or the consulting business or the whatever.
anyway so far I have sold a tractor (hardly used ) and an expensive farm trailer. (Used maybe three times) a loader (used a few times but mostly by paid people and not at all since 2013), a backhoe worth a small fortune - used so few times I could have had the work done by paying someone else and still saved a fortune. a Mitre saw, a table saw, tools galore, snatch straps you wouldn’t believe, enough nails and screws to sink a boat (a bit of an exaggeration but get the picture), ...... I could go on. It’s hard to work out how someone could fool themselves when they intentionally refused to help on anything because it was his way of forcing me to sign over half the house. And then he did nothing after that. but happily took trips, ate food, lived rent free, borrowed money which he never paid back, had a cook, cleaner and punch bag and was still able to pretend he was wealthy.
I don’t think the judge was wrong in what he awarded - because facts are facts and the judge actually looks at what one bought in and contribution and financial records were crystal clear. The rest I guess is a matter of opinion but some people just think what they do is better than, matters more than or is worth more than others even if it is simply apparently gracing the earth with their presence. .
Anyway I guess yesterday really was an ending and I just feel sad and as I do the last of the packing maybe I feel a little angry about it. Maybe I’m angry at myself as well for letting it go on. And for believing that it could be different. Or not seeing what was happening. Or whatever. Or for allowing myself to break into thousands of little pieces that I’ve slowly been putting back together.
might need to go and shout to the wind. I’m torn between that and crying. I don’t like the way I feel.
I’ve liked the sense of gratitude and happiness and peace and love that have been with me for a while and this is a strange feeling that is unfamiliar to me.
I tossed up about writing this. Then I nearly deleted it . But I’ve written before and I might as well let it hang out and then pick myself up as I always do.
I’d better go and empty the cellar maybe. There are 150 bottles in there to pack up
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