And so it goes

15 10 2012

The next morning when he showed up he expected me to feel terrible that I had banished him from the house.  And did I…nope.  He tried to make me feel bad that he had slept in his car.  And did I….nope.  He wanted to be able to stay at home, even though he repeatedly kept saying that he didn’t understand what he had done wrong.  And did I let him…nope.

When confronted with the empty bottles and sleeping pills he simply said that he had been having some problems sleeping and that it was helping him.  The thick stench of deceit made me want to gag.

I told him that he was ‘grounded’ and could pack a bag of his belongings and go find somewhere else to stay for a few days while he figured out what the hell was going on with him and how he was going to fix his dying marriage and his overall life apathy.  I tried really hard in this time to remember who he had been, who I had been drawn to in the early days and who had started as a great dad.  Cause I didn’t see a single molecule of that man in this bloated, itchy, slovenly, deceitful mess that was standing before me.

And so he went away for that weekend to a local hotel.

The timing was awkward as it was going to be a big weekend with our schoolie friends enjoying the much anticipated school disco and then a BBQ.  And so the lies of cover from me began…and I hated it.

So where was Mort?  “Oh he had to go down South for work over the weekend”….it didn’t sit well with me having to fudge it, but at this point the situation was still ‘in-house’ and he had a chance to fix it.

When he returned home he admitted that he had let his drinking get a little out of hand but that he could get on top of it….but he stressed that I should really stop harassing him as I wasn’t helping.  And did I…nope.





Unravelling thread

8 10 2012

25 November 2010 – A week after the book club dinner fiasco.

I can’t remember how this day started, but remember vividly how it ended.

I was driving Clare to her tennis lesson just before 4pm.  On the way I saw Mort’s car pull out of a parking lot near a big open park/playing field driving in the opposite direction.  My skin tingled.  Hairs on end.  Blood pumping fast.

I called him immediately questioning what he was doing pulling out from the car park.  He knew the call was coming as he too saw me drive by.  His response, and all too quick, was that he had pulled over to talk through some details of a job with his boss on his cell phone.  Without time for me to even process he then haughtily said “what, you think I’m meeting a drug dealer or something”.  Actually I hadn’t thought that far but it seemed like a really defensive comment and yet offensive attack on me and how dare I question.

It left a bad taste in my mouth and a sickly feeling in my stomach.  I knew that I wasn’t just imaging ‘stuff’, I didn’t really know what the ‘stuff’ was but there was clearly something going on.

6.00 pm that night and the girls and I are hanging out in the kitchen getting dinner ready.  I am calling Mort and he doesn’t appear.  I go to the bedroom and he is sound asleep like the giant tick again.  Yes, did you note the time 6pm.

I shut the door and continued the evenings activities with the girls and got them to bed with a smile on my face and fire in my veins.  The moment that their eyes fluttered into blissful REM I went into sleuth mode, though it wasn’t a difficult hunting expedition.  I opened his car door and the mini vodka bottles almost poured out of the car.  The car was also strewn with empty sleeping pill packets.

My stomach churned and the world spun violently…..I marched into the bedroom to rip his head off.  I can recall the feeling of my eyes pulsating in my sockets and I think I was whisper screaming (didn’t want to wake the girls) so much that I had spittle coming down my chin.  He was dazed and confused.

I can’t remember if I pushed him out the door or actually physically lifted him up and plopped him into his car.

The pathetic look on his face, like he was so hard done by.  “Where am I supposed to go”?  I think ‘hell’ was what I quickly quipped followed by a sharp, “I really don’t give a fuck”.

He asked “what have I done that is so terrible”…he asked it over and over and over again….this is when I was first introduced to the mind-set of the alcoholic…..complete lack of accountability.

And the thread unravels ….





There’s one in every crowd

4 10 2012

On the precipice of launching into ‘the dark’ with my next post…I was talking with a colleague of mine this week.  She is crazy smart.  I say this ‘crazy’ in a really positive way, as in über, she is much younger than I but with this depth of smart passionate being that is inspiring and humbling.

We were talking of work stuff and it segued into personal stories.  What I learnt (well, confirmed my knowing from collective conversations of ilk with cross-section of people) is that we all have some deeper ‘crazy’ in our lives.

I am not talking here of; dance with abandon, get a little sassy, try some food you wouldn’t usually eat.  I mean ‘crazy’ in the not even remotely jovial sense. I mean it in the old school sense of have totally lost the context of dignified reality.  I am talking of when you have witnessed the substance of someone you knew…… fade, distort and then disappear ….leaving just a smeared shadow that looks like them but in no way reflects who they were as a person.  The wit, the intellect, the connection, the values, the dignity ….all gone.

And when you think yourself on the ‘grounded’ side of the line of ‘crazy’….you need to be acutely aware of that line…..it is thin and wobbly when you have a link to someone who could drag you over the edge, whether intentionally or not.

For the ‘grounded’ be aware ……mountain climbers tethered together, you and your crazy connection ….you are the lead and the second guy (crazy) falls into the looming abyss… as much as it pains you, you need to swiftly cut the cord or you too will be dragged down…..down….down….(amendment…this is what I needed to do in my situation and more importantly able to do in my situation.  Every situation and your relationship to it differs….some people can walk away, some people simply don’t have that choice.)

I totally stole/borrowed/plagiarized (whatever brings me least amount of punishment) this pic (https://rolwim.wordpress.com) so thank you, kudos and may this bring you all 27 of my readers 🙂 Trust me, quality poops all over quantity.





Mt. Ripley

3 10 2012

In mid-November I was hosting my bookclub christmas do.  Mort was in charge of getting Clare and Maddie bathed and to bed on time while I had my friends for dinner in the other room.  At one stage I came into the kitchen to see my girls sitting by themselves in front of the tv unbathed and munching on a packet of chips.  Where is your dad?  The reply was asleep.  It was 7.00 at night and I had a house full of people.  I was beyond livid.

I checked in and sure enough there he was buried under the covers like a giant grotesque snoring tick.  There are no words to describe my absolute disgust.  I left him to sleep as I didn’t want to rattle that cage while my friends were in the house.

Instead I got the girls organized for bed and continued with my dinner party.  When the guests left….I let rip.   Good thing that we put in that air-conditioning because I was spewing face-melting magma all over the place.





A cool wind blows

2 10 2012

One luxury that we decided to add to the house was central heat/air.  So in late October we had some guys come in to do the install.  It was ridiculously hot and I felt for these guys crawling around in the ceiling when it was over 100 degrees.  For some reason Mort decided that he needed to oversee this project.  That with him having zero experience in air-conditioning installment and the guy that we hired having over 20 years.

Maybe this was Mort stamping his testosterone mark on something within the house as every single other element I did myself.  The install took about 5 days and Mort was somehow around for most of the time.  He would be dressed in his work attire but from what I could tell he wasn’t actually going to work.  What was weird is that by the end of the day he looked more hot and sweaty and stinky than the poor guys who were crawling around in the ceiling.

It was also about this time that we got the Wii all hooked up on the new tv and the girls goaded Mort into getting onto the Wii fit which he hadn’t done in nearly 2 years.  We all (*) fell about in fits of laughter when his Wii figurine blew up like a balloon and his body gauge jumped sharply into the obese category.  (* we all meaning everyone but Mort.)  I was hoping that it would give him a shake to get himself into action, instead he just slinked off into the other room to sulk and flipped on the air-conditioning to max.

I would have thought the arctic temperature between us would have been enough to cool the whole house down.