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.