The upside of Divorce …… that no one tells you

There are few perks to divorce, but if you do not focus on them, and try and relish in the small thing, there is a good chance you might end up with a sawn off shot gun, and an alcohol binge session that is not going to end well for anyone at the post office.

So here is my non-comprehensive list of shit that is good after a divorce:

1.  You can use it to stop a “call centre” operator in their tracks.  I had a call yesterday from Old Mutual and an operator was trying to set up an appointment with a very nice financial planner, to plan my life.  I said “you know I am at the end stages of a massive divorce, right now I can’t plan for next week {I did make it slightly more dramatic than it is} ….. I really can’t do this right now.”  I could hear him flicking through the “cards to use to deal with difficult customers” and he came out with nothing.  He apologised, wished me well, we might even have held hands symbolically and sang kumba-ya-ma-lord for a few moments.

2. Twice the cupboard space.  Not something I really factored in at all.  I left K’s cupboards pretty much untouched for a month or two, and then I thought, hey wait a minute maybe we can put my jeans here, and my jackets here.  And then I pretty much took over all the cupboard space. It makes me smile nearly every morning to open all those cupboards.

3. I have access to the remote.  Now, I can’t quite explain this emotion. It still makes me choke up a bit.  Unless you have lived with a man, you do not realise that has a woman, you just do not get remote control benefits, and if you do, then what ever you select to watch is deemed as shit/junk/this crap again.

4.  This is also connected to the DSTV remote.  I change the sound on the DSTV remote.  The rule was we only change the sound on the TV remote and you will be cast into hell if you dare change the sound setting on the DSTV remote.  I now do it with reckless abandon.  It is still quite a heady experience.

5.  I get every second weekend off and one night a week.  Let me say that again, every second weekend, I have no kids, no responsibility and the same is repeated one night a week.  I love my kids, but holy shit balls I like them so much more now that I get a break from them.  It is creepily fantastic.  I know I should be lamenting how I miss them and how I can’t live without them, but I am too busy fiddling with the sound on the DSTV remote.

6.  Isabelle sleeps in my bed almost every night – Georgia sometimes comes along.  There is something delicious about that warm, moist and sweet smell of your children close by.

7.  It is such a relief to not find shoes fucking everywhere.  Everyone puts their shoes into cupboards.  I no longer have to pack shoes away.  I did all the options, leave the shoes out, and see if “all” the shoes will eventually be left randomly all over the floor, and throw a shit fit, and then do internal anger.  I tried it all.  It appears the only solution to the shoe issue is divorce.

8.  Every day —- every solitary day —- K either takes the kids to school or fetches them.  I don’t wish to mention that at one point he had no idea what school or grade the kids were in, but it helps to give a balanced view of how fantastic this present arrangement is.  It means on two days a week, I can get up at 08h00 if I want — and I always want.

There are lots of negatives.

There are lots of things that are still shit.  There are lots of things that feel like I am being punched in the diaphragm and vagina simultaneously, but there are some ups …… there are some things that still make me skip around the house like a lunatic in happiness.  You know some days you need to cling on to the slithers of happiness in the madness, or you will lose the plot.

And stand screaming on your drive way.  I choose to get excited about the remote and changing the sound, without any repercussions.

great loss

Advertisements

Jean Claude Van Damme invented black. In fact, he invented the entire spectrum of visible light. Except pink. Tom Cruise invented pink.

I am coming off an insomnia bender of more than a week.  This is my third night of sleep, and I am beyond overjoyed at the prospect that I can go to sleep and remain so.  I am giddy with the excitement of it all.

The hamster on the tread-wheel in my head does not slow down much and I have been having some graphic dreams with incredible detail.  HD stuff.  Which makes distinguishing between real life and sleeping life a bit tricky.

Last night I had this dream – I probably had several, but this was the one I could remember, because it ended with me being on the floor.

So {in my dream} I arrive home and find that Kennith is there with a group of people, and they are having dinner.  In my house (in case you have been away for a bit and missed the details – Kennith and I are divorced and living separately as you do when you are divorced).

Dinner party is in swing, without my permission, or knowledge.

I am a bit gob-smacked, and then when I see his significant other {we will refer to her as Sparks or it will make trying to discuss this more awkward than it is already} sitting at the dining room table, in the chair I would usually sit in.

I am like “what the fuck!!?”

All of this blows my mind and I start ranting at Kennith about how inconsiderate he is being, and also how fucking inappropriate this all is.  Just totally in-a-fucking-propriate.

I am freaking out — but I have moved away from the dinner party, you know so as not to disturb the imaginary dream dinner party, with Kennith’s friends and his significant other.

I can’t recall what Kennith was saying – but the attitude he was giving me was that I should just calm down and what is the problem.

Nothing quite escalates an argument than telling the person who is losing her rag to “just calm down.”

I am not quite sure of exactly what happened in the precise order, because there was a lot going on.

Me screaming at Kennith.

Kennith being a dick.

Sparks coming over to introduce herself —- er, maybe not the right time wouldn’t you say?  {please keep perspective that this is my dream, this is not real life}

For some reason there is a room full of boxes, which were also freaking me out.

So, what happens next (both in real life and in my dream) is I take my hand and pull the duvet away from my left leg, to free it up from all those restrictive blankets.

I am dreaming, but I can feel and know I am doing this.

Then I launch a kick – I am not sure if I was kicking any of the characters in the dream, or the door or the boxes.

I am not sure.

I kick with all my might.  I got height and direction.  And enough velocity to pull me out of my bed.  And deposit me on the floor next to my bed.

Nothing quite wakes you up like hitting the floor.

{this is how I pictured I looked}

high_kick

On a non related matter, what the hell is going on in this picture and should we be calling animal protection services?

JEAN-CLAUDE VAN DAMME

I can’t poop if someone is near me and they know/think I might be pooping ….

I am physically unable to poop if someone is nearby.

That someone could be anyone.

I used to be at boarding school – I did not go to the toilet from Monday through to Friday – because you have these large rooms of toilets and showers, and there is just no way you are in there alone.

I used to try to wake up at 3am, but true as nuts I would be terrified someone would walk in, so totally unable to go.

By Friday I was bleeding from my eyeballs!

I still cannot go to the bathroom, if there is someone in my home, or if I am in someone’s home, or in a public bathroom.

I will literally be crying, knowing that if I took too deep a breath I would shit in my pants — but still I would hold out, I just cannot go.

This picture is exactly what happens when I go to a public bathroom, and that is just to wee.

 

waiting to poop

 

A few months ago, I was at a very dodgy bar.  It really was past the point of where dodgy was dodgy – what ever is the word to be used for “most dodgy”.  Any the who, at a certain point I had an overriding urge to urinate.

The type where if you do not go NOW you will actually just pee in your pants.

I was standing outside the one stall bathroom for women – past hopping from foot to foot – to the point where I was pleading to be permitted to use the bathroom.  I think I might have already been making nail scratches in the door and begging in a very high pitched voice.

Eventually the cubicle door opens and said girl looks at me and says “you really sound desperate” to which I reply “yes, I am going to pee in my pants ….. right now …… please I really need to use the bathroom”

She opens the door wider, and I notice she is not making any movements to leave the cubicle, whilst I use the facilities.

Normally this would be awkward beyond awkard, and I would stand there and mumble.

But this night was not one of those, this was, if I do not pee now, I am going to be pee’ing in my pants.  And no matter how dodgy this bar was or is, a girl peeing in her pants is not going to be overlooked, as just another low point of the evening.

I decide to just shelve my issue with pee’ing/shitting in front of someone.

I have no idea why she was still in the cubicle, with me.  On the upside the cubicle was considerably big, so it was not like we were pressed against each other.  We could have served snacks and invited a few other people to join in.  I was part the point of delving into the mystery of what exactly was going on here.

I had about a liter of urine that needed to be removed from my body immediately – else my jeans were going to become a large in efficient sponge.

Dropped pants, sat on the commode, and felt that relief you do when urine is not being poured into your pants.

I could barely speak for the joy and relief.  Bliss is a word I would throw around here.

At some point, once the initial pressure had subsided it gave me time to take in my surroundings, and notice that this girl was still in the cubicle with me.

When you need to pee, you really start to bring your standards down quite a few notches.

I looked around at her, she was behind me, I smiled, and said “thanks so much” — and she said “not a problem” and then continued to snort cocaine off the cistern.

I knew that this was not normal.  I felt she could look at my lilly white arse whilst she was snorting off the cistern.  I am not sure which part of this I found more disturbing.  I was sort of thankful I had decent underwear on.  I think it is a girl thing.

I also knew I had flashed my ass, and all the other bits to a stranger I had never met, and who appeared to be making very different life choices from me.  At the time.

I however still had about 340 ml of urine to get out – so I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

And so this strange “friendship” was formed.  I finished what I needed to do, wiped, flushed, washed my hands, thanked her again for her generosity of letting me into the cubicle, and wished her a good night further.

Okay so that ranked as one of my stranger experiences of that particular week.

The one where the woman got kicked in the face …. because of me

Yesterday something happened which will remain with me for quite some time.  Forever possibly.  It’ll be that thing that I lie awake at night thinking about and wondering if I had acted differently would the outcome have been affected.

I interview at public places – so it might be a McDonalds or a Mugg and Bean or a where ever.  It’s convenient, and I also like the fact that I am in a public area when I am meeting someone who I do not know.

Yesterday it was at a McDonalds, I use the same one regularly and I know the staff at this point, and it is comfortable.

My social anxiety does make it a challenge to interview, and added to that if I interview in an unfamiliar place it makes it more so.

As with most of these places there are usually several self appointed car guards, who exchange their time of staring at your car to ensure that no harm comes to it, for a few rand.

Now, the idea of car guards is not an issue for me.  I am a good tipper of car guards, and especially the other guys who help push your trolley and unpack your bags into the car.  Those guys I love!!  Especially when I have bought a few 25 kilogram pool salt bags.

So we have established I have no issue with both these entrepreneurial arms of the work force and the services they render.

These particular “car guards” who frequent this particular McDonalds are more of the class of vagrants, who have nicked day-glo green bibs and stand around looking like they are in various degrees of enhibiration the later the day gets.  But hey, who am I to judge.  Leave me in a parking lot staring at cars with a bib, and odds are I will be drinking wine through a straw by 09h00.

I don’t expect much from “my” car guards. I like them to say hello, and then make overtures of how they are going to protect my vehicle against what ever might happen (I don’t necessarily believe this sales pitch), and then when I return I like the person to match me to my car – because that tells they remember me, and maybe they have actually taken superior care of my car.

Then I also expect “my” car guards to not be fighting and screaming and screaming things like “jou ma’s se poes” (for those outside of South Africa, it is basically a reference to your mothers genital area ——- and you know when someone lays that down, that this shit just got real).  It is often the preamble to “what are you going to do with that knife?  Stab me?

The car guard “syndicate” at this particular parking area is made up of two men, and one woman.  I often hear the woman going off pop, and screaming things that make me smile and also sort of make me walk faster to my car to get in and push the automatic lock system.

Yesterday it happened again.  I had seen a skirmish had started between the one man and the one female.  Her appearing like the aggressor from my vantage point. She was the only one throwing things, smacking and swearing. The guy sort of stood there and stoically took his beating, with that look on his face that said he had already given up on this life shit ages ago.

I looked at this and figured, if they remained where they were I could walk past and get into my car and not get involved.

There was a lot of “jou ma se poes” going on and a few other colloquialisms which I did not quite get.

When I reversed (whilst the car guards were showing me how to reverse …. its a service I don’t particularly need, but I leave them to do what ever they feel comfortable with} I rolled down my window and said to them that I am a regular here, and I see them often, and generally I do tip.

I explained that whilst they fight and carry on in the parking lot like this, I am not going to tip them.  The one man mentioned something about the woman, and how she was the other man’s girlfriend.

{The woman was not there at the time, she had sauntered off after the screaming and swearing}

I told him I did not care whose girlfriend she was — and this is where I made my critical error in judgement: “Whilst that malletjie (mad person) is here and carrying on like that, I am not going to tip you guys.  Sort your shit out.  Everyone in the restaurant can see you and it really is not cool.  Get your shit together guys.”

I drove off, and they waved, and I thought “okay that’s done” – I was then sitting in a queue where there is an exit onto the main road out of the restaurant parking lot.

I see some movement to my left and I take a look over.  I see the woman from earlier sitting under a tree, doing what ever you do when you are homeless and are sitting on your mattress under a tree in a McDonalds parking lot.  She was moaning and swearing and gesticulating with a certain amount of fervour.

The guy (possibly her boyfriend) was walking over to her and he too was swearing and gesticulating.

I thought to myself, she is going to get up and beat the shit of this guy, pretty much like I saw her do before in the parking lot.

I was wrong.  Not for the first time on that particular day it would seem.

This guy walked up to her, I could not hear what they were saying as I was too far away and my windows rolled up.  I saw him kick her – right in the fact.  She fell the floor trying to move into the fetal position. He then continued to KICK – with all his might – KICK HER in the face.  She barely had time to bring her hands up to protect her face.

She tried to scramble away, but that exposed her abdomen and he did that kick thing when you bring your foot down and stamp someone rather than kick them.

I sat there horrified.  And mute.  And paralysed.

I am not sure what else happened, as the cars infront of me had moved and the cars behind me were hooting.

There was no where for me to pull off on the side and go back and try and do something.

I was horrified, and realised that my telling the guys that I was not going to tip them whilst they acted like hooligans, was directly translated into “while that woman is making a scene you guys are not getting any money!”

I drove away shaken, not knowing what to do. And feeling this deep veil of guilt that I had been the cause of this woman getting the living shit beaten out of her.

I also could not go back by myself into that situation.  By myself.  If that guy was happy to beat the living shit out of someone who he appeared to have as a girlfriend, what would he do to stupid me stumbling in being all moral high road and shit.’

So, no I did nothing.

I did not call the police.  I was sure telling them there were two bergies/vagrants who were having a fight would get about as much interest as whether the fire pool was really necessarily over at the Zuma Manse.

I am sorry I got involved. If I had kept my mouth shut, it probably would not have happened.

that thing