Daily Archives: August 22, 2012

Keep Moving

Today, I’ve found a touch of motivation. That gives me hope that yanno… it is shifting. I went outside and played with my daughter and my husband (at the cost of a headache I’ve not really managed to shake), managed to work on some crochet last night. and otherwise thought about things. I’m still feeling very fragile and slightly concerned that I’m going to do myself in with having a whole two things on the books this week, but I suspect it will be fine, and I will be fine. It’s the anticipation and the room for fretting and worry that does the most harm, I think most would agree.

So then, what am I thinking about? I’m thinking about my crochet, and how I’m going to progress it. I’m thinking about buckling down to study for my driving test, at least, the written part. It’s hard for me to get into that nitty gritty without a deadline staring me in the face; all that time in the Air Force taught me how to study when the pressure is on, and how to make it count. I’m sure that sounds cocky, but I generally managed to have very high scores on my tests in both the military and school, so I think it’s fair to say I have some idea of how to make it count.

Anyhoos, I am enjoying myself and the rather pleasant weather this evening, so I am going to get back to that. Hope everyone on the other side is having a good day/evening!

<3

Is This For Real?

Last week I had a transvaginal ultrasound to take pictures of my internal lady parts to ascertain whether polycystic ovary …

Continue reading »

Crocs ‘n’ Socks

I know, I know – it’s not so much a crime against fashion as a crime against humanity.

But I’ve got to tell you, I’ve walked 60km over the last two days in these little beauties, and my feet want to buy me a drink.

A couple of days ago I made the hiking schoolboy error of assuming that after all this time my feet could happily endure a nuclear onslaught and stopped my daily blister-prevention routine.

And got two blisters.

It became so painful to walk in boots that the only option was to morph into a hybrid of Tom out of The Rise And Fall of Reginald Perrin and the male character out of that 70′s classic ‘The Joy of Sex’ (although I stopped short of the straggly beard).

But who cares. It worked. And the last two days have been a joy.

Mostly.

Yesterday’s planned 20.7km walk out of Vilabla to Baamonde did not start too auspiciously; let’s just say I stuck with coffee for breakfast….

…but things soon soon improved, despite any obvious aesthetic attractions, with some evidence of just how far I’ve come..

…but more excitingly, how far I’ve got to go…

The shell markers are now appearing with increasing frequency and for the last couple of hundred kilometres have started a kind of Santiago countdown, featuring the distance yet to travel on little brass plaques indented into the concrete.

However, as you can see from the picture above, a lot of these seemed to have been nicked by the less scrupulous peregrinos along the way, presumably as mementos of their journeys. And of all of them, I guess the 100km one never had much chance of lasting very long.

As for me, I decided to give The Luxury Peregrino a bit of an outing again in celebration.

Be honest. If you wanted to mark the occasion and had the option of sleeping here…

…or here…

…which would you choose?

Precisely.

I think I had the best night’s sleep in the whole month I’ve been walking, which made today’s 34km walk (which was supposed to be 41km – the Crocs ‘n’ Socks combo meant that I walked a further 7km yesterday than planned, so sod fashion), an absolute joy.

Starting out under a light mist, I soon found myself in rural villages that evoked a way of life long since lost…

…and this part of the journey seems to evoke the past every step of the way.

From the woodland paths bordered by dry stone walls…

…to the remnants of buildings on which the Camino waymarkers are posted…

To walkways which feel like they can’t have changed much since the ancient pilgrimages.

And as in previous parts of Galicia, the opportunities for refreshment are few and far between in sparsely populated villages. So when I saw this one, I jumped at the chance…

…and found myself sitting in a farmhouse kitchen being given great big slices of homemade cheese, hunks of bread and the local beer by the farmer’s wife. For 3 Euros.

After which, the final stretch to Sobrado dos Monxes felt like a breeze.

As you walk into Sobrado, one of the first things you see are the turrets of the huge monastery to which the towns name refers.

Which also, rather impressively, turns out to be where I was destined to spend the night.

And you have to admit that the opportunity to stay here for 5 Euros is a pretty good deal.

The only downside to the whole experience was that I was treated to an absolutely virtuoso performance of snoring in the dormitory last night. In fact, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that it might have been God.

But even a interrupted night’s sleep can’t take the edge off the almost palpable sense of excitement that I’ve only got 60km to go before I reach Santiago.

For those of you that have been kind enough to follow this blog closely, apologies for the infrequent posts over the last few days.

Blame Galicia.

But I’ve finally found a cafe with WiFi and I’m posting this on my way to Arzua, which is the official final stop before Santiago and which is where the Camino del Norte joins The Camino Frances, the most famous route and the most popular. If I tell you that the final Albergue before Santiago has the capacity to sleep 1,500 peregrinos, you’ll have an idea of just how popular.

And I think I’ll walk past Arzua today – it’s 40km from there to Santiago and I’m planning to walk about 10 of that today, 25 tomorrow, and then do a real Spanish Stroll of 5km into Santiago at daybreak on Friday.

I’ll try and do an update tomorrow, but if not, I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.

(I’ve just noticed there’s a fly on my Credencial – as well as falling apart it’s obviously starting to smell…)

Filed under: On The Road Tagged: Baamonde, Peregrino, Rethink Mental Illness, Santiago, Sobrado do Monxes, Vilalba, Walking

Emotionally bobbleheading

Last Tuesday,I received a big envelope in the mail. The Donor has MAILED me do-it-yourself divorce papers. ADDRESSED TO ME IN HIS GIRLFRIEND’S HANDWRITING.

There is no mention of Spooky,or the fact he deserted us and hasn’t lifted a finger to support her in 11 months.

He wants a no fault divorce with a waiver to get it before the two year rule in this state.With  marital misbehavior having no bearing on how the judge chooses to divvy up marital property.

His gf even included a nice little post it telling me I can have the papers notarized for free at the courthouse.

I AM NOT SIGNING A BLOODY THING.

I did my first divorce and there was little property and no children and there was a hell of a lot more paperwork included, as well as a case docket number. These papers have four total pages and as far as I can tell, have not come across in court desk. They were printed straight from the net or at least printed up with some internet template.

just when I think he cannot sink any lower, he proves me wrong. Acting like we don’t even have a child and he bears no responsibility.

I am going to seek legal advice. I will NOT let those two screw me or my child over.

Meanwhile, I am bobbleheading between medium functionality and total depression with acute anxiety, panic attacks, and sleep disturbance.

My kid is the battery bunny with a nasty attitude.

There’s never enough money.

Some days, I just want to  take spook away with to that place that doesn’t exist, where we can both exist happily without The Donor’s taint hanging around our neck’s like a noose, without my mental issues clouding everything.

11 months without any contact,and he MAILS me divorce papers. I fully expected to be served. Ya know, by a sheriff. If he has the money for a new car and matching wedding bands for him and his gf, I want him to have to stand in front of a judge and explain what makes him so special that he doesn’t have to support his child.

If those papers had included a waiver signing away his paternal rights and giving me everything he left behind, I’d have signed them in a heartbeat. I’m not contesting the divorce.

I AM contesting his mentally ill denial of our child’s existence and his responsibility to her. To not even mention her in the divorce papers, not even to waive his rights…

That’s so low he’d have to look up to kiss a snake’s belly.

Everyone thinks I am crazy because I’ve decided I would let him off the hook for past support as long as I get a legal document declaring he has ZERO rights to Spooky.

I don’t give a rat’s ass about the money, my entire life has been a struggle as far as money goes. I’m used to it.

But night after night of not being able to get to sleep or stay asleep because my mind is spinning, wondering what else he has up his sleeve to screw me over and hurt me…To possibly want to make a reappearance in her life at some point down the road…That is a dark cloud hanging over my head. To be rid of it would be worth more than money to me. My child is my everything.

I am highly suspicious because if I sign off on these papers and he adds a list of “marital” property it could list shit I had before I met him or stuff we never had to begin with. And the decision would rest with the \judge and I would have no recourse.

NO NO NO NO.

Fucking hell to the no.

They must think I am stupid in addition to having my psych issues.

I want my day in court if he isn’t going to be a man.

To not even ask for a divorce in person….

I should not be surprised, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that he is a horrible human being, even though every single day I search my mind and my heart to find ways that maybe I turned him into a bad person. Ultimately, the responsibility is his. He has made his choices, and there is NO legitimate choice to go 11 months without even offering to buy a package of diapers. I have lamented endlessly about how his rejection of his flesh and blood, the child WE created together pains me…

I want the divorce.

But more than that, I want a piece of paper that puts him out of our lives forever.

I think my panic and anxiety and depression might just alleviate if I could wipe the slate clean and be free of that particular albatross.

Then again, we’re nearing the season change and my seasonal affect will be kicking in, so I may just be falling down the rabbit hole all over again soon, no matter how hunky dory things might be.

Bloody fucking hell.

No rest for the wicked, I guess.

And to be MAILED divorce papers addressed by his gf/fiancee’, I must be one evil fucking witch to him.

Makes me regret the fact that I held back on my whiplash tongue and was nicer to him than any other guy I was ever with. Had I really unleashed myself, he’d probably be in a psych ward or dead by his own hand.

Weird thing is, I talk to the guys at the shop the same way and they don’t fall to pieces.

The Donor may have planted seeds of self doubt in me, but ultimately, my gut reminds me of the truth.

I’m flawed, I can be difficult, but I am NOT the one who walked out and I sure as hell didn’t desert my child.

Though I am sure he has found a way to hold me responsible for his own fuck ups.

He and his little gf may soon find out just what Morgueticia is made of,.

Methinks they are not going to like it.

Especially if I find a pro bono lawyer and his ass has to appear in court.

don’t

fuck

with

the

mama

bear.

Especially a bipolar one with a decent brain.