Saturday, March 26, 2011

The Prophet by Kamil Gibran

Another week has gone by - previously I have used the word inexorably, and that does aptly describe the relentless progression of time within my life's journey.

I am sitting in the family room, Maud sleeping beside me, the fire glowing warmly, lit after a chilly day which surprised me because the last two days have been unseasonably warm, so warm, that I was gardening yesterday in a short-sleeved shirt.

There have been more house viewings, nobody new, yet more repeat visits from previous
viewings. This house seems to have some sort of hold over people, yet no resolution.

I have settled down into a routine, which is very satisfying because in all the forty years of my marriage, it was impossible to get life into any sort of order, so out of chaos does come a form of peace, even with a high price attached.

I was sitting at the kitchen table this morning, coffee to hand, addressing one of the crosswords in today's papers, and one of the clues was "title of a book by Kamil Gibran - holy smoke, back flooded the black memories of the ex's bizarre behaviour. One day, in the dim and distant paat, this very book appeared on the window sill of the ex's dressing room. Here we go, I thought.

He never read anything, barely a newspaper, he was one of the least literate people I have ever met, so as usual, I knew this was a sign that he was conducting yet another relationship outside the marriage. We had already had Wild Swans by Jung Chang, a book way beyond his ken so not one he would have bought for himself, the Sudoku craze that died afer several months' intense activity, the criticisms about how many pairs of shoes/trousers. etc I owned, when he would not himself have had a clue, so someone had been poking about (sorry about that lewd word)in my dressing room, the expensive presents he bought for me and the lack of presents from me (dear me, it waa actually the other way round)) and so on ... He was a complete idiot. did he think I was so stupid I wouldn't realise something did not ring true. But - cottoning on from intuition was not the same as having concrete proof. Although eventually that manifested itself, and I did, although latently, despatch the weeping wen from my life.

I am so weary of all this, but there are always subtle reminders throughout my daily life of his appalling behaviour, and I suppose it will always be so. but would people please cease from spouting that facile phrase "Just get over it". I never will because first of all I am furious with myself for not addressing the problem earlier, and the enormity of what he has done to me will never be expunged.

He has just returned from a three week holiday with his ghastly companion, most of it in South Africa. I can say with all authority that this, coupled with Christmas in Ireland and another subsequent holiday, then followed by South Africa, would have cost at least half my annuual income. This venal creature told the Courts he was living on £2000 a month and had no assets. Strange really, because these three holidays taken over the past 12 weeks must have cost him at least six months declared income - how will he live for the next three months! It is certain that I will never be able to afford a holiday ever again

Notwithstanding all this, life does continue, and we must make of it what we will. One lesson that I have learned over the past two and a half years, is that one can trust only a handful of people, and when life gets bloody and it seems there will be no end, there are but a handful of people who truly understand and who are there for you.

2 comments:

Kat B said...

You write so beautifully. I almost wish you were in a Jilly Cooper novel so that the badly-behaved people would get their comeuppances and you would be scooped off by some luscious landscape gardener. Fingers crossed the house sale happens soon.

Ms. Pearl said...

After my divorce, a friend told me it takes one year for every five you were married to recover from a divorce. That helped me so much, because I felt like a failure for not "getting over it" after a year. I needed to make sense of it all, but finally realized that would never happen.

I still have moments, but instead of feeling a knife wound, it's now a paper cut. Each year gets a little bit easier.

Do be gentler with yourself--you were doing the best you could, at that time, under those circumstances. You were also dealing with a partner who wasn't playing by the rules.