Right-o. I'll react.
I wrote this out earlier when I was in a ragy moment and in response to Izzie's post. I decided not to post it because, quite frankly, it's TMI. But fuck it, if I regret it in the morning, I can PM MNHQ.
Izzie Sounds like a balanced diet. I had boiled eggs and soldiers, followed up with some Doritos and cheese tomato salsa shit (home made!) Exciting times. Washing remains in washing machine...
I want a life! Just need to get divorced first. What's so irritating is that had he not been a controlling bastard and let me keep some (even just 20%) of the proceeds from the chattels I was selling, without it ALL going into the escrow account, I might have moved on in my life.
But no, that fucker, in one of my more ridiculous moments sent a decree via his solicitor to mine who forwarded it to me (costing both of us £50) to put...£50 in the escrow account.
It's just plain fucking nuts. That's what it is. Do you reckon he's a bit controlling?
Apparently not, says his barrister - he's a very reasonable, generous and kindly man.
I don't fucking agree.
I could have moved (as I intend to do) and settle down and get on with my life. But no he's so insistent on dictating my new life, that I have to ask a judge 'please, sir, can I live in this country?'. I'm British FFS!
Moreover I have to ask permission to move from the judge, even though it's not as if I'm wrenching the kids out of school and depriving the father of 'his rights'. And worse, worse, worse than that, the fucker has liquidated everything and run off with the cash. He's determined to get his own way, isn't he?
I am an adult. I cannot get my head around this very sad fact that I can chose to eat doritos instead of veg, I can chose to have sex with whomever I please should I please (so far, I have deprived myself - perhaps I'm not "pleasing").
I can swear in the appropriate places, but I'm not allowed to chose to live in MY OWN COUNTRY. I thought women had equal rights in this country but he can chose to runaway and do all this? But I have to ask 'please sir, can I live here?' as if I'm some kind of asylum seeker. I'm not - although I've worked with loads of refugees in my former job. I'm a decent human being FFS - not a bloody criminal.
This is the stuff of my nightmares and it's why I don't sleep at night. I shall miss the Aussie Open next week as it's helped me keep occupied this week. I've been feeling a bit maudlin this evening but I'm fucking fed up of it all now.
It's been a funny day really, I have a real confidence boost this morning thanks to something I can't write about, then felt really sad and lonely this evening for no other reason than the telly is crap and I live in the middle of nowhere.
And I'm getting divorced from a fuckwit.
AT night, when I can't sleep, I am currently reading "Puzzling people: the labyrinth of the psychopath" when I find myself sleepless in somewhere other than Seattle, with an empty half of the bed.
WWK. Who is having a bad divorce.