My own manila folder

22 01 2014

The next day began with my dad and me sitting at my kitchen table poised with two notepads with the word ‘divorce’ heading the pages. On my pad the word was boxed-in, underlined and letters re-traced before we even began. My dad had also come armed with two bland looking manila files marked “L divorce #1” and “L divorce #2”. My younger sister had already chalked up two divorces for various reasons, hers without the crazy shit. My dad pulled out a clean manila folder and branded it with “Ripley Divorce #1”. For some reason we both found this funny. (remembering in these situations in the absence of laughter, the default setting is tears….fuck that).

What became disturbingly obvious is that the law here states a ‘no fault divorce’ which means that you have to be ‘separated’ for a year before you are even allowed to apply for a divorce. So much for the American television and movies where people blink akin to “I Dream of Jeannie” and they can be divorced. So even if your husband has become a deceitful, philandering, odious, unworthy shitbag… meant that the word MRS. was going to appear on my legal documentation for a year. How desperately I wanted to drop that “R”.


The Edgar suit

14 01 2014

I am happy to report that my absence from this blog has been due to lack of time….but that time has been wonderful and fulfilling, and not rife with life altering complexities of three years ago. So while these times have been good, let’s continue the story in the days of the bad, the ugly and the down right repugnant.

7 February 2011.

This was supposed to be Mort’s first day of attendance in the Rehabilitation Program that was organised by Doc. Under Doc’s advisement, I was to allow Mort to come by the house after the day-long session and report on how it had gone.

Getting that sinking feeling?

I heard the slam of the front door but there was no sign of him. I peered out to see him ranting to himself and his car askew in the driveway. I raced back to the kitchen and called my parents, with the frantic plea to come over immediately.

Mort made his way through the house out to the backyard. The girls were in the pool but he didn’t acknowledge them, he was attempting to pace but given that he could barely stand, he just sort of bumped around.

Although my dad had spoken on the phone to Mort in this condition, my parents hadn’t actually visually witnessed it. Mort had an ungodly smear of something all down the front of his jeans…puke, shit, really not sure and didn’t want to get close enough to assess it. Shock, disgust, and sadness all sat heavy on my parents faces.

He stood (swayed) there in his shit stained pants and told us that he had gone to the rehab counselling and it had all gone really well. It was as though he rationalised that if he believed his lies that everyone else would. It was purely delusional.

The next few minutes were a delicate dance, my dad trying to usher him in and my mom running defence, going outside to be with the girls to shield them from this disgraceful foul mess.

I called one of the hotels where he had been staying and when I gave his name the reply was ….”Oh, is that Mr. Mort? Terribly sorry but we won’t be able to accommodate him.” When I questioned why, the concierge paused, taking a long slow breath and blurted “let’s just say it has to do with some working girls.” He then caught himself and said, “is this his wife”, my swift reply was “not anymore”.

This revelation took it to a whole new dimension of having no idea who this person was. It was like that scene from Men in Black with the alien bug wearing an “Edgar suit”.

This fetid disgusting cretin was wearing a Mort suit…..the outside looking hideously distorted…..and I sure as hell didn’t know who/what was lurking on the inside.

 photo credit: Edgar from Men in Black

photo credit: Edgar from Men in Black

Ode to a stranger

11 01 2014

The blogsphere is a wonderous space. A woman half a world away from me is living through the chaos similar to what I did three years ago with an alcoholic husband. She googled the key words alcoholic and deceit (with the first invariably comes the second)….and there popped this blog.

She sent me a synopsis of what she is going through with beautiful sentiments of wishing me well in my life and hoping that the hiatus from my blog postings was not due to continued challenges (aka crazy shit).

Friends and family have been asking me to get back to the story (I really did leave it just hanging there!), and I thank them for that, but it has now been the kind words and personal sorrow of a stranger that has really given me the kick in the pants that I have needed… you I say a sincere thank you.