<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271</id><updated>2012-02-17T04:41:42.725Z</updated><title type='text'>Through A Glass Darkly</title><subtitle type='html'>Dark days diaries of a marriage break-up</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>64</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-8546402528442732723</id><published>2009-03-22T23:17:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-03-22T23:21:12.758Z</updated><title type='text'>Some Day I Shall Look Back On This</title><content type='html'>And probably be very embarrassed that I wasn't strong enough to say "f**k 'em" right at the start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time ticks on and things progress at a glacial pace.  If getting married took so long then fewer people would do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I shouldn't say that lest anyone think I refer to my own situation.  I thought I knew what I was getting into, I was lied to.  End of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, apart from an endless frustration at the unfairness of certain situations we three are a happy little group.  My worries now concern my father and how long I have left with him in our lives.  I do wish I could have the backbone to show how little I care about what went on.  I got over it, there isn't an issue there, however I shall blame my Sagittarian heart that I carry a grudge forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as long as I do that then perhaps this is where I will stay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-8546402528442732723?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8546402528442732723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=8546402528442732723' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8546402528442732723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8546402528442732723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2009/03/some-day-i-shall-look-back-on-this.html' title='Some Day I Shall Look Back On This'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-8319429297713154060</id><published>2008-12-31T21:58:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-12-31T22:10:36.029Z</updated><title type='text'>It Says It All Really</title><content type='html'>He had the boys yesterday, got them a haircut that makes them look as though they are new army recruits or they have nits.  I ask him to do one thing, just one less thing for me to do.  Won't make that mistake again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then, at dinnertime, as I am contemplating a bath and pjs evening after a fairly quiet afternoon, he phones.  Can I meet him halfway to pick up the boys rather than him bring them all the way home?  Do I have a choice?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am late, I hadn't realised I would have to chip the ice from the car, plus I drove very carefully as I wasn't sure if the roads were icy too.  Being all cautious you see.  But still I went to pick up the boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, does he say "Thanks for coming out I know it was inconvenient, it being a cold night and all."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...or "Sorry for not being able to bring them all the way home."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...or "We were worried why you were late."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...or "Why are you late?  I've been waiting ages."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unlike those tv competitions, that ask questions and then give blatantly obvious answers, there is no premium rate phone line to call and no prize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the answer is blatantly obvious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy New Year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May 2009 bring good things for those who deserve them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-8319429297713154060?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8319429297713154060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=8319429297713154060' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8319429297713154060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8319429297713154060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/12/it-says-it-all-really.html' title='It Says It All Really'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7306564412176990678</id><published>2008-12-26T21:07:00.005Z</published><updated>2009-02-08T17:20:07.259Z</updated><title type='text'>Its A Rich Man's World</title><content type='html'>All the things I could do, if I had a little money....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Y'know&lt;/span&gt; I used to sing that song, when it first came out, I don't remember how old I was exactly at the time but still in Primary school young.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder what will happen.  He has not answered the lawyer's letter so it looks like it will go to court in the New Year.  He will regret not agreeing to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;whatsitcalled&lt;/span&gt; as I doubt he will be let off so lightly when the court reviews what he isn't paying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't pay what he owes for the debts he left.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Nevermind&lt;/span&gt; child &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt;, he quit his job so he wouldn't have to pay for that.  But now he leaves me short of money so I can't look after my sons properly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day soon this will not be an issue.  One day soon I will not have to forget to pay bills because he has done this.  One day soon I will be confident in his paying up in full and on time and perhaps even giving me money to pay for things.  I don't know what he thinks I do with the money but every penny goes towards paying the bills he left me with.  It sometimes gets me down, the unfairness of it all, that he can skip off and not worry himself about them.  When I step back and look at the scale of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;deceit&lt;/span&gt; that went on it is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;breathtaking&lt;/span&gt;.  That someone so unimaginative could work things so brilliantly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While my head is still fuzzy with the cold I realise this won't make much sense.  But I see now how I allowed it to happen that he can blame most things on me and because I was so busy trying to keep his miserable arse happy I left myself wide open to the misunderstanding.  Because I trusted and believed him.  Because I was loyal enough to take his side.  And now, with his shiny new family he can pretend everything that happened previously was to do with me and not to do with him and his lies.  And because he is their father he can involve the boys with the nonsense, pretending that when they defend me they do so not because it is the truth but because I am some sad, jealous wreck of a person still clinging on bitterly to the past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;But there is some comfort in knowing how far I have come and that the person he is portraying to others for his own reason is as far from the truth as is everything he invents.&lt;/span&gt;  It is just the money issue that causes concern and once that is sorted...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7306564412176990678?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7306564412176990678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7306564412176990678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7306564412176990678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7306564412176990678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/12/its-rich-mans-world.html' title='Its A Rich Man&apos;s World'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-5569803259420618303</id><published>2008-11-13T22:05:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-11-13T22:22:57.187Z</updated><title type='text'>Still Here (part two)</title><content type='html'>Things go on and now that my life has completely separated from his, in all but the legal way but that should be sorted *very* soon, there is such a relief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still feel a fool for having stayed so long with someone so out of touch with reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has realised the grass is not greener. A friend who once worked with him believes that what happened was flirting gone too far. His &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bidey&lt;/span&gt;-in will realise at some point the error of her ways and what a favour she did for me. Last time I saw her (she always sits in the car very aloof ) she had a familiar look on her face. I recognise that look from many a time before, the look of total unhappiness brought about by something he has done or said (the kind of thing you wish you could sort but know you can't, the kind of thing you can't believe someone who supposedly loves you could say/do that) the rot has started - so soon as well. And there is no way he could have laid on the lies to her that he did on me. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ach&lt;/span&gt;, it is their little problem now. Hope they enjoy their lives together and have a life they both deserve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and the boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it is a struggle but then such is life. I have a sense of contentment that sometimes wins out against the sadness and that feels good in a warm, comfy blanket kind of way. I know that the boys are happier, far happier although they despair when they have to visit their father and I try to explain that no matter what he is still their dad. But he has let them down so many times and that I cannot help with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wants to come with us when I take the boys' out for their birthday. I could strap one of those torture belts around my leg like the Monk in The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Da&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Vinci&lt;/span&gt; Code and it would be more comfortable than that. It is up to the boys though as the day isn't about me and I can do anything for them, even spend time with him. Interestingly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Bidey&lt;/span&gt;-In and Baby Tarzan are not invited, not by me but by him. Ah, the noose is tightening for him already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Smile, things get better.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-5569803259420618303?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5569803259420618303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=5569803259420618303' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5569803259420618303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5569803259420618303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/11/still-here-part-two.html' title='Still Here (part two)'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-5411776604106136728</id><published>2008-09-01T14:31:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T14:32:58.413+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Still here</title><content type='html'>Still hanging on.  Still dealing with the mind games.  Still dealing with the nonsense that holds me and my little family back.  Still here and only just.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-5411776604106136728?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5411776604106136728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=5411776604106136728' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5411776604106136728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5411776604106136728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/09/still-here.html' title='Still here'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6321274245358734790</id><published>2008-07-20T22:49:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-07-20T22:55:27.911+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Lately</title><content type='html'>I have been finding it hard.  Just getting by day to day can tilt towards a struggle where the only thing to look forward to is bedtime and sleep.  That is when I can sleep.  Average time is between 1am - 3am depending.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how I can permanently shake this off.  I should be building, not stagnating.  It is as though I am drifting along, not being of any use to anyone, not even the boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I enjoy my own company, as an only child I always have done, but sometime the loneliness is crushing.  Not that I wish for the old days, those were not what I thought they were anyway and I am glad to be gone from that.  I drift along...anchorless...but still afloat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6321274245358734790?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6321274245358734790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6321274245358734790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6321274245358734790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6321274245358734790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/07/just-lately.html' title='Just Lately'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-1665888045920772337</id><published>2008-07-05T02:49:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T03:09:19.957+01:00</updated><title type='text'>It Isn't What They Think</title><content type='html'>So, this baby has arrived. Seven weeks early apparently, although I am not sure if that is true or just another of his lies to hide the rather quick event. In a couple of weeks it will be one year of freedom from him and look what has happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One friend wonders if I feel that I should be the only one to have his children. Oh please don't tell me that is how it seems. I stopped after having the boys because deep inside I knew I didn't want another baby with him, after seeing how he behaved when I was pregnant and when they were born. I do feel a pang of...what is it...regret/grief at the children I won't have now, the missed experience of giving my boys a sibling - an experience they have stolen from me. But I have my boys and that will have to be enough for me. Unfortunately he spoiled it by telling me that I have "more than some people have got." This from him, that is rich, very rich. I would have even more had it not been for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naturally &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bidey&lt;/span&gt;-in has suffered more than I did. Of course, it is only natural she would have an extreme pregnancy, an extreme birth experience. No doubt the child will have some drama attached to the poor thing. Despite the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;eclampsia&lt;/span&gt;, the swelling up like Violet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Beauregarde&lt;/span&gt; minus the blue-tinge, the sheer discomfort;my main concern was that I have two healthy babies. Not for me the act of the Queen of drama, squandering my first &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;born's&lt;/span&gt; moments in feeling sorry for myself (in actual fact the first thing I did was read to them, despite the odd looks I got from everyone else.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He quit his job. As it goes, he has never lasted more than a couple of years in his jobs but each one was "the one" that he had been waiting for, the one where he could shine. Never happened. This is so he doesn't have to pay the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;CSA&lt;/span&gt;, as apparently the money he pays to the debts is the only money I am to get from him. So supporting his children is not his problem, paying the debts he left is somehow giving me money?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Bidey&lt;/span&gt;-in shall now learn that you should be careful what you wish for. Good luck to her, she is going to need it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am ashamed to say I lost it. The emotional stress perhaps got the better of me, his knowing how much I had ached for another baby (yet never querying why I didn't go ahead and get pregnant again.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is lecturing me on his situation and I spit back, literally spit back that;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I always wanted a family but I didn't need to pick up with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; husband minutes after he walked out. I wouldn't go near anyone like that. I was in a supposed marriage, in a supposed relationship and heading for what I thought was our future together. I don't need to grab every guy passing and shag him in the hopes I'll have a baby. I'm old-fashioned, I wouldn't do that to him, to me, to my sons or to a baby. I am not that desperate."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I shock people sometimes when I react. No more the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;bovine&lt;/span&gt;, placid me. I should get some sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-1665888045920772337?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1665888045920772337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=1665888045920772337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1665888045920772337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1665888045920772337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/07/it-isnt-what-think.html' title='It Isn&apos;t What They Think'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6520935661265621532</id><published>2008-06-21T22:06:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T22:14:37.386+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I Knew This Anyway</title><content type='html'>Speaking with one of his ex-colleagues I learned some truths, ones I already knew despite his denying them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unbelievably he tried to pretend to them that nothing was going on.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bidey&lt;/span&gt;-in works in one place and he worked in another but it was the same company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amazingly the ex-colleagues side with me on this.  They told him he was being incredibly stupid throwing away a marriage and children on that.  He was a flirt, I knew that, I never minded that - window shopping is perfectly acceptable.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bidey&lt;/span&gt;-in seems to have responded to this flirting in a way that made him want to leave us for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am so glad he did now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only problem is the silly games he plays with the boys.  They are unnecessary, but he will drive them away without my doing anything.  It is a shame but that is what he is all about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I know that as soon as this new baby is born he will try and set them against this new child who has done nothing wrong but to share the same useless article of a father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will find out more as I am friends with this person, before we realised our common link.  The natural progression will reveal more.  But I have a feeling it will just confirm what I feel I already knew.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6520935661265621532?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6520935661265621532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6520935661265621532' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6520935661265621532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6520935661265621532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-knew-this-anyway.html' title='I Knew This Anyway'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-8561380242848184131</id><published>2008-06-21T21:54:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T22:05:55.669+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Lies Upon Lies Upon Lies</title><content type='html'>Today he made an utter arse of himself at the children's gala day, upsetting eldest son to the point where I had to work really hard to stop his whole day being spoiled.  Yet he did this in front of everyone, his bizarre behaviour, the way his world revolves entirely around him.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ach&lt;/span&gt;, it is ridiculous.  He travels all the way from his new house, apparently with her in tow as there is no show without Punch after all, to spend a few seconds distracting the boys?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find out also that he has told the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;CSA&lt;/span&gt; several different stories and when challenged, has changed them.  He is supposedly not working at his main job anymore yet he tells me he is and he drives a Range Rover that is a "company car" according to him.  I don't know who he is lying to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still don't know his new address.  He has told me a street name but as it is the main street in that town I don't know if that is true or not.  I have said he cannot take the boys there until I have actually seen this house where they will spend time.  And I mean see him go into the house with them.  Yes, I do not trust him at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He continues his nonsense and I do not see the point.  Is this some kind of mental health issue?  I have a feeling it is and I felt that during the farce of a marriage too.  I was battling against something, this thing that prevented him from actually enjoying what he had instead of inventing problems or blowing them out of proportion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I ramble on.  It is one of those days.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-8561380242848184131?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8561380242848184131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=8561380242848184131' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8561380242848184131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8561380242848184131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/06/lies-upon-lies-upon-lies.html' title='Lies Upon Lies Upon Lies'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-5070483802510703432</id><published>2008-06-14T21:46:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-14T21:59:15.186+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Got One Like That At Home</title><content type='html'>Speaking to a friend I haven't seen in a good long while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her ex has gotten his new bit up the duff too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has phoned her and spoken rather candidly about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are they being cloned somewhere? These immature men who stamp all over us and then expect us to be there for them like we are their mothers?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She can't tell her son, we talked about this. I explained that the boys knew about it because Idiot's new bit can't stop showing them what she has bought for it recently while Idiot complains about having no money. Her boy took the separation worse than mine did, he had a dad who played with him and actually interacted with him on a daily basis. It is going to be difficult but why should she take the brunt of telling her son. Because she loves him, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; where it gets us. We love our children, we try and protect them and do best by them to heal the wound caused by the family ripping apart. Not for us is the parenting for a few hours only.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hear how my sons talk about their dad, this new baby and I ache for them as I can't make it better. I cannot defend their dad, I don't badmouth him but at the same time I feel that if I try and make it sound like everything was alright then they'll get confused about how they feel. So I let them talk, I listen, I hug and then we get on with things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He expects me to tell the boys to love this new baby. How do I do that? Why should I do that? It is not my place and we do not talk about it, but if my sons bring it up then all I can do is hear what they say. I don't have experience of coming from a broken family, the new bit does yet seems to have learned nothing from it as she has &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cack-handed&lt;/span&gt; this from the start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was also speaking with someone who worked with Idiot. This at the place he worked, before he was sent to the other site, where he met her. His colleagues knew all about it, from what I heard not only did they think him incredibly stupid to throw away what he had but that they did not think as highly of him as he said they did! Now why aren't I surprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They know he is with her, they know about the new baby and disapprove. Good for them. This workmate has an ex too, he lives near me. Since his new bit got a ring on her finger she has banned the workmate from the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a crazy world cake the new bit is the cherry on the top.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-5070483802510703432?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5070483802510703432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=5070483802510703432' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5070483802510703432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5070483802510703432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/06/ive-got-one-like-that-at-home.html' title='I&apos;ve Got One Like That At Home'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3439774999840359119</id><published>2008-05-24T15:41:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-24T16:06:26.056+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing Happy Families</title><content type='html'>A little back story first of all:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I first met and then married him I knew his family weren't exactly normal.  Well, what family is.  He had a mother who was alcoholic, a father who was distant and alcoholic, a much elder brother and a control-freak sister.  Of course this was all told to me, as reasons why he wanted to maintain a distance and I respected his wishes, fool that I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for years the story was fueled with tales of his sister saying this, his mother doing that.  I felt annoyed at how poorly they treated him, out of loyalty to him.  When I was expecting the boys the game went up a gear, I realise it was a game now.  As a result the boys have never really known their other family, their cousin six-years-older than them.  And I let him do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine my surprise today as he barely concealed the smirk on his face as he told me that he, sorry, they had taken the boys out to a country park near where we are from.  There they met up with sister and cousin and all had a lovely afternoon together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wasn't that nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is presumably to notch up my paranoia a little, to make me feel even more insecure and totally alone.  How sister and her got on so well with each other.  Lovely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't get why he does these things still.  What can he hope to achieve that hasn't already been done?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3439774999840359119?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3439774999840359119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3439774999840359119' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3439774999840359119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3439774999840359119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/05/playing-happy-families.html' title='Playing Happy Families'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2826705602191231226</id><published>2008-05-21T14:06:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T14:09:44.853+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I Predict</title><content type='html'>That by the end of this year I will not be the only one who needs a blog for theraputic-don't-take-it-out-at-home reasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tax.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nosy governments losing details.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is enough for anyone to give up all hope.  It is a struggle at the best of times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2826705602191231226?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2826705602191231226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2826705602191231226' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2826705602191231226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2826705602191231226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-predict.html' title='I Predict'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-4849217553433346867</id><published>2008-05-12T13:26:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T19:50:45.260+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The War In His Letter</title><content type='html'>Communications from the lawyer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has written a letter (I say he, but I am more than certain he had 'help') that must be the truth in his mind yet is so far removed from reality I am once again perplexed...and more than a little frustrated. This must be how it feels when you give instructions to someone and they go and do a completely different action.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He left with only his clothes&lt;/em&gt; he says. Which must mean he wears the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dvds&lt;/span&gt;, computers and other assorted junk he took as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He has been paying me child maintenance straight into my bank account&lt;/em&gt;. Must be invisible money as neither I nor the CSA have had so much as a penny. The debts he pays are debts and nothing to do with supporting his children, or is that wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He changed address so I wouldn't be bothered by his mail&lt;/em&gt;. Yet it has only been in the past few months, actually since I started writing her address on the envelope before posting them back, that letters and thankfully phone calls have finally dried up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He only gets to see the boys for a couple of hours every 3 weeks or so&lt;/em&gt;. Does that mean the entire day he spends with them, for example picking them up at 9:30 and dropping them off at about 5&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt;? Or perhaps the fact he can pick them up from school, he can take them to dinner, he can spend time with him during the week anytime he wants (and the two times in the past fortnight he has done so) doesn't count. Or the offer I gave that as long as I have a few days notice he can see them whenever he wants was misunderstood? Maybe he is confused at the amount of times he was supposed to turn up and didn't bother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is the one lie I hate the most. That he wants to make out I keep his sons from him. He hints strongly that all he wants is for his sons to come and spend the night at his house. He has forgotten the important thing, the thing that is beyond whatever points he tries to score - and forgetting I no longer play the game. He hasn't asked the boys. I have, they don't want to go. In fact they are happier when he picks them up during the week as they spend time with their daddy alone. He doesn't get this, he doesn't understand that perhaps they are unhappy with his girlfriend being in constant attendance, like a prison guard. They want to spend time with their daddy, just the three of them. The worst mistake he makes in this is presuming I can control how my sons feel and how they think. The worst mistake is even thinking I would do this to them, knowing my stance on boys, children, needing their fathers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-4849217553433346867?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4849217553433346867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=4849217553433346867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4849217553433346867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4849217553433346867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/05/war-in-his-letter.html' title='The War In His Letter'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-4364584885858152273</id><published>2008-05-06T23:19:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T23:24:09.191+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The War In His Head</title><content type='html'>Strange how a phone conversation can be distorted to listeners hearing only one side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Injustice bothers me.  I hate being thought of as something I am not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see how he paints me and it is not the truth.  But they will believe it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He enjoys the games, he enjoys the lies, he enjoys the fabric of the life he thinks he is living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I can see it I know how to disassociate myself from it but it is hard.  The hardest thing is seeing how my sons will be played.  Luckily they possess far more knowledge than their father, to the point I heard them discuss the pregnancy and how it wasn't right because "daddy hasn't known A* long enough."  From 6 year olds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you deal with a request to "find another daddy, one who will play with us instead of going on the computer"?  Wish I had boys, and wish I could.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-4364584885858152273?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4364584885858152273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=4364584885858152273' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4364584885858152273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4364584885858152273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/05/war-in-his-head.html' title='The War In His Head'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6599251106056894290</id><published>2008-04-30T20:12:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-30T20:20:19.600+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Tired</title><content type='html'>It is the hardest thing, the hardest thing.  Standing on the edge of the dark pit and swaying.  Only two sweet things stop a final tip into the blackness where it must be such a relief, just to stop and not feel so tired, so worn out and so beaten by stupid things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The feeling passes but it is always there and while it seems like for every one step forward there are ten dragging backwards the feeling will continue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At some point things have to get better, at some point nothing will happen, no bad news, no dread of knowing that shadow hangs over, of complete and frustrating helplessness.  It is relentless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6599251106056894290?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6599251106056894290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6599251106056894290' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6599251106056894290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6599251106056894290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/04/tired.html' title='Tired'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2059643510413318118</id><published>2008-04-30T00:28:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-30T00:29:53.474+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Well It Was For The Wii</title><content type='html'>But then the money I've been setting aside looks like it is about to be swallowed up by the car...again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rattling, underneath the engine on the drivers side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fairy Godmother, could you magic me up a new car that wouldn't take every penny I try and put by?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2059643510413318118?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2059643510413318118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2059643510413318118' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2059643510413318118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2059643510413318118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/04/well-it-was-for-wii.html' title='Well It Was For The Wii'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-4254565758502586381</id><published>2008-04-26T17:19:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T18:03:15.174+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Liar Lied To</title><content type='html'>During the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; blackout I wish I could say that I came to some understanding where everything worked out fine and life sorted itself out.  This isn't a soap though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The divorce has been kicked off.  I do believe, from what he has said while she listens on the phone, that he told her this was his doing.  However it was me and the funniest thing ever was when I received a letter from my solicitor stating that "Ms. C***** however, found him hard to believe."  So it isn't just me then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He still hasn't paid the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;CSA&lt;/span&gt;.  He still peddles lies whenever and wherever he can.  He still portrays me as some loony ex-wife holding on to the chance that maybe he will grace me with his presence once more as husband (oh God, the thought of it!)  He still acts completely different when she listens in to any conversation we have, during the last one I was accused of being paranoid, well with him as an ex is it any wonder.  After 10 years of him it is amazing I am not a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;jibbering&lt;/span&gt; wreck - well, not quite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About a month ago he shows up after work, luckily the boys had finished their dinner as I don't like him wandering about the house anymore.  I presumed it was to see the boys so I patiently waited for him to leave (I deserve a medal sometimes, even if I do say so myself.) Then for reasons that would make sense in his mind, and nowhere else, he starts talking about her and the baby and what it all means to him.  And he sits there telling me how one baby will be a "breeze" (when he wasn't really there to help with two of them so how would he know) and that this baby won't be as smart as the boys and that he never wanted any more children (so either wear a condom or get the snip.)  While he offloads, expecting God knows what because he won't get any sympathy from me, I realise what a completely selfish, nasty person he really is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I told him, in no uncertain terms, that all this was his doing and that in leaving he had shut the door permanently as life without him is much less fraught and I no longer have to walk on eggshells.  It was actually quite a relief to tell him this, I am slowly returning to being me at last.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has forced the boys to accept her and this baby without so much as considering their feelings on the matter.  Luckily they have the normality, or close to normality, with me.  Whether it is given the nod by the boffins or not I would rather the boys tell me any issues they have with what they are going through or speak to their teachers (they know they can do both) than bottle it up.  If he continues to shut them out of his life, if he does tell them what is going on that concerns them then one day they simply won't be interested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is sad but it is true and my concern is purely for the boys and not for him and his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;bidey&lt;/span&gt;-in.  As a friend pointed out, he wants her to be thought of as such a wonderful person but who shacks up with a man who just walked out on his family (whatever reason he gave her for it) and then gets pregnant within months?  Sure accidents happen but if alarm bells didn't ring when she told him how she couldn't have children, and told him several times, then hell mend him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I care only for the fact that this is the type of woman he has around my sons and that I had to explain to my boys that people do have babies without being married!  They are so old-fashioned but Eldest was adamant that it couldn't possibly be true that she was having a baby because they weren't married. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as for the title of this post...she waited until she was pregnant before telling him she didn't own the house they are living in, she just rents it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Karma.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-4254565758502586381?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4254565758502586381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=4254565758502586381' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4254565758502586381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4254565758502586381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/04/liar-lied-to.html' title='The Liar Lied To'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7313016274886203600</id><published>2008-02-22T09:53:00.004Z</published><updated>2008-02-22T09:58:43.413Z</updated><title type='text'>It Was Bound To Happen</title><content type='html'>I knew when he told me that she couldn't have children that it was a lie as he knew how much I longed for another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now she is pregnant.  When he said, last summer, that he wanted another baby too I just didn't realise he meant not with me.  To think that this month I haven't enough money to pay the bills, to think that I am at the lowest ebb ever, to think I cannot see any way out of this at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The unfairness of it all is devastating. More so because now I think of what the boys will think of it. Will they see this other family being made and feel left out? Will they want to be part of that rather than this fractured existence with me? I feel so hollow inside. All I ever wanted was a family, was to be loved and love in return. I never asked for much which is just as well as now I have nothing and nothing to give my two wonderful sons.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7313016274886203600?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7313016274886203600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7313016274886203600' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7313016274886203600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7313016274886203600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/02/it-was-bound-to-happen.html' title='It Was Bound To Happen'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6056608115626105274</id><published>2008-01-14T10:22:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-01-14T10:31:51.736Z</updated><title type='text'>This Website May Be Experiencing Difficulties</title><content type='html'>Of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; provider kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while I consider how to sort out this new mess, created in an area I had never thought would be problematic, my mother comes up with the opinion that - knowing I do most of my work and contact through the net - he has done this on purpose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps a little far fetched but as he is dragging his heels on contacting Tiscali then I do wonder.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6056608115626105274?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6056608115626105274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6056608115626105274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6056608115626105274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6056608115626105274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/01/this-website-may-be-experiencing.html' title='This Website May Be Experiencing Difficulties'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-1788341424039384649</id><published>2008-01-04T22:57:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-01-04T23:13:03.582Z</updated><title type='text'>Hmmm</title><content type='html'>He keeps phoning asking to speak to the boys at around 9pm at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knows they go to bed at 8pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go away and stop bothering me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is he checking up to ensure I haven't gotten myself a life yet?  He tells me, for whatever reason, that he and she have only £40 to live on until he gets paid.  Which means either he found someone as stupid as he is with money or he has started spending what is hers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think back to when we first started out.  When I was at college I worked one job in the evenings and another job at the weekends - I paid the rent and most of the other bills while he, full of ideas and hopes and aspirations that I swallowed hook, line, sinker etc., tried to find his perfect job.  In the time we were together he went through 5 career changes and countless jobs within those careers.  I never complained because I understood what it was like to feel aimless, not to know where you are heading or what is right for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus I had gone through similar pains, never lived off of anyone though -I took the idea that while looking you did whatever job you could.  Can't live by that now as childcare is a large restriction on that unfortunately (I've realised how many people, especially single parents, couldn't work at all if it weren't for family members helping out in the childcare department.)  Still, I suppose that is what marked me out as a fool from the start, that I was so thick - trusting that someones intentions were always honourable.  If I were kinder on myself I would say it was naivety due to how I was brought up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, is he doing the same to her?  The same line of constantly saying he is about to earn big money so it is okay to do this or that.  Only it sounds like she is letting him go ahead whereas I was always cautious - is that where I was controlling?  When I got ill and had to hand over dealing with the finances (though I still worked to a budget which he was then controlling) that is where it went wrong.  Things that should have been paid (direct debit, very easy, you do nothing) weren't paid.  Where did the money go?  My mother is always going on about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am rambling, so what is new.  It was well after 2am before I got to sleep last night, so an early night for me at the moment.  Was woken at 7am in the morning by a delivery man knocking on the door looking for a neighbours house (its a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cul&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;de&lt;/span&gt;-sac, how hard can that be?)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-1788341424039384649?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1788341424039384649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=1788341424039384649' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1788341424039384649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1788341424039384649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2008/01/hmmm.html' title='Hmmm'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-5391344853046832864</id><published>2007-12-31T19:54:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-31T20:16:41.919Z</updated><title type='text'>Ego</title><content type='html'>Saturday turned out to be a very interesting day indeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My concentration was on the Hobbits and celebrating their 6&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; birthday.  His concentration was on points scoring and trying to play the martyr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called his bluff you see.  While he was having a conversation on the phone, or rather hysterics on the phone that had no real relation to what I was actually saying but would play out well for listening ears (i.e. her) I gave him a plan he couldn't possibly fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My plans for their birthday were during the day.  He could very easily take them out that evening for dinner.  Once he had gone through the script for her benefit, a script I recognise from when he used to be on the phone to his family and I felt so sorry for him as they "seemed" to be giving him such a tough time, he saw sense.  The next part of the script was an over-exaggerated effort into making plans, rushing about with timetables for the cinema to take them to see The Bee Movie.  Oh how I recognised every last part of what he did, it does work because it fooled me for far too long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met near Edinburgh, it is so strange that I see through this farce now.  I can see exactly what is going to happen and when and know that he has changed not one jot.  He was all happy and thankful to me for letting him do this.  I remind him he is the boys father and he has a right even though he makes a joke of it most of the times.  I even warned the boys to be on good behaviour with her, and told him that to expect me to ask the boys to welcome her was a bit much.  That is his job, then again when has he done anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For once he didn't try and tap me for money.  Well, after their gifts to each other of tom-tom for him and iPhone for her it would sound a little hollow to then mention they have only £40 to live on until his pay date.  So that would mean she is as bad with money as he is.  (I still want to ask if he calls her materialistic for having a house, which is what I was accused of for wanting one.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His return was even more entertaining. The boys are happy, sleepy and contented.  Eldest behaved himself but youngest still blanks her - how is this my problem?  As he carries boys and presents in she suddenly appears.  Of course having a couple of hours to relax I just had to be in my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;jammies&lt;/span&gt; and dressing gown for this part.  I stand in the hallway, blocking entrance into the rest of the house which is a tip of new toys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I say not a word to her, he babbles on about this and that.  Luckily they leave quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if she thought I would invite her in for tea and biscuits?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing annoying, or even more annoying.  They received gifts from her aunt and uncle, on the card they wrote "from Aunt &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ixxxx&lt;/span&gt; and Uncle &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Jxxxx&lt;/span&gt;."  It seems petty but they are not relations.  They have never met the boys, according to him though I don't really believe him.  It would seem she is from an over-friendly family.  It might be stroppy on my account but I really do not like that attitude.  Be nice to my boys by all means but they won't call you aunt and uncle unless you are an actual relation.  It pisses me off and he knows that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Sod this - bring on 2008&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-5391344853046832864?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5391344853046832864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=5391344853046832864' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5391344853046832864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5391344853046832864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/12/ego.html' title='Ego'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-1516618906781750691</id><published>2007-12-27T20:55:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-28T00:04:33.346Z</updated><title type='text'>At Least We Have Our Health</title><content type='html'>Correction, at least the boys have their health. I should have known better, superstitious soul that I am (there is no point in denying it!) Not to make that appointment in the last gasp of this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So back to the hospital I will have to go, reluctantly but I am heeding this warning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to stop rushing around trying to do everything, be everything, trying to prove myself to the world. I need to stop because the most important thing in the world is me being there for the boys. Never mind anything else, never mind disappointing anyone else. I have but two main responsibilities in my life and if I don't slow down I won't be there for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before now I would have been upset, stressed and worried when the doctor decided to refer me. I find that the strength I never thought I had is carrying me through this. The boys' birthday is in two days and whereas before this would have been playing on my mind it has been locked away. No point worrying until the surgeon sees me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take it as a sign, a big, blinky neon sign to forget trying to justify myself to people and to take care of the most important things...which are we three.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-1516618906781750691?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1516618906781750691/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=1516618906781750691' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1516618906781750691'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1516618906781750691'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/12/at-least-we-have-our-health.html' title='At Least We Have Our Health'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7654663436217860199</id><published>2007-12-24T13:05:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-24T13:06:31.912Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It will be a Merry Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He will only spoil it if I let him.  And that won't happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7654663436217860199?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7654663436217860199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7654663436217860199' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7654663436217860199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7654663436217860199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/12/it-will-be-merry-christmas.html' title=''/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-101612463591926567</id><published>2007-12-22T01:11:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-22T01:20:43.312Z</updated><title type='text'>Priority</title><content type='html'>He phones to say he will bring the boys' presents over on Christmas eve. The olive branch is offered once more for Christmas morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, says he, it has to be 7am or nothing as he has "other things to do" on that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Priorities, he has them. Just not in the right order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I probably sound awful, denying him the right to turn up here first thing on Christmas morning. It will be a long enough day for me, the trek over to my parents, having to cook the lunch and do everything on my own as usual while everyone else gets to enjoy the day. I think I'll stay at home next year and go to my parents on Christmas eve as it ends up with the day itself being just one long rush and endurance test. Then again I'll feel guilty because at my dad's age there might not be too many Christmases together left. And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named thinks his life is complex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still get mail for him now and again, demands from various debt collectors. I always pass them on but it is obvious he is not dealing with them. It would feel better if it wasn't the case where I won't have enough money to cover the bills at the end of the month. One day I shall look back upon all this as a life lesson, it is just so difficult to live through not knowing when the end is in sight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-101612463591926567?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/101612463591926567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=101612463591926567' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/101612463591926567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/101612463591926567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/12/priority.html' title='Priority'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2925512711948325529</id><published>2007-12-19T21:12:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-19T21:25:11.161Z</updated><title type='text'>I Am Not Going To Win</title><content type='html'>No matter what I do.  That was probably obvious to everyone but me.  I swear I can be so dumb sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I phone today, to try and build a bridge. I do not want it ever to be said I kept his sons from him, I do not want to give him that ammunition.  So once again I make the first move.  I repeat inside that I am doing it for them, because if it were not for the fact he was their father then I would gladly wipe him out of my life entirely (well once he had paid off what he owes that is.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He complains that I won't let him arrive at 7am (yes &lt;strong&gt;*7*&lt;/strong&gt;am) but ask that he comes at 9.  You see I will have let the boys open all their presents by then.  This despite the fact I told him I would get them dressed and give them breakfast and start the grand opening once he had arrived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is disarming to have someone believe a lie about you, a lie they created.  He has convinced himself I am what he says I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do I do next?  He says he'll think about coming Christmas morning but I don't really care if he does or not - the fact is that I said he was still able to come (won't say welcome, that is a bit much.)  If I keep myself right then at no point can it be truthfully said that I denied him access.  Even if he says it anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2925512711948325529?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2925512711948325529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2925512711948325529' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2925512711948325529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2925512711948325529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-am-not-going-to-win.html' title='I Am Not Going To Win'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7887704063683845628</id><published>2007-12-15T19:08:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-15T19:25:57.416Z</updated><title type='text'>Did I Think It Would Get Better?  Really?</title><content type='html'>How could I have been so stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is my birthday in a few days.  The plan was to take the boys to a family-orientated restaurant after swimming lessons that evening.  Another plan was to take the boys to see Santa tomorrow (on my own as I have always done as he has never been interested before.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His plan, or so he told me, was to take the boys (with new girlfriend in tow as she has been complaining she won't see them on Christmas) to the cinema and for dinner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then "She said we'll just go here."  And here was a fun park type place - with Santa.  And here was where her mother works so she could show off her newly acquired family.  And here is where my patience ran out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I being unreasonable in thinking it is over-stepping the mark for them to be taken to meet her mother?  Am I being unreasonable in being upset that he took them to see Santa knowing full well that it was where we were going tomorrow?  Am I being unreasonable in acting angrily when he accuses me of telling the boys to call her names when I have literally bit my tongue off to make sure I said nothing in front of them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So shouting match ensues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says he has done nothing wrong.  I tell him exactly what he has done and that I don't appreciate the way he has pictured me as this evil ex.  He says he has had enough that he will drop off their presents and not see them anymore.  I say that supervised visits would suffice.  He says we are not getting back together.  I say that he might want her to hear him say that for whatever reason but she would be pleased to know that there is no getting back ever.  His bridges are not only burnt but the foundations gone too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best of all, he shouts "I left because I wanted some control over my life."  So he moves in with someone he admits tells him what to do.  I never controlled him, it was the other way around.  I never once told him which job to take, which of the many career paths to go down.  I never once told him I wanted this or that, never once complained when he quit jobs at the first problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe that was my biggest problem, maybe I should have told him to get his finger out.  Maybe I should have held him to his many promises he made, confronted the lies he told instead of excusing his behaviour at every step.  I did everything I could to make his life easier and he screwed it up - on his own.  I carried him, first financially and then emotionally, until I was no longer of any use to him.  Now I realise he was not worth it at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mood is: anger, frustration, annoyance, hopelessness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7887704063683845628?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7887704063683845628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7887704063683845628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7887704063683845628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7887704063683845628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/12/did-i-think-it-would-get-better-really.html' title='Did I Think It Would Get Better?  Really?'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-298365972908358300</id><published>2007-12-08T22:35:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-08T22:46:07.249Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The Christmas tree is up, the house is decorated and the boys are excited about the coming present-fest.  It won't be as much as in previous years but they will get what they wanted (I am thankful for having children who like simple things that don't cost much.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This month is going to be the one we have to get through.  Not so much emotionally as financially or perhaps equally amounts of both.  I know what my Christmas wish would be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is not so much to be said for being too introspective and I sometimes wonder if other people get through these situations easier.  Then I find out some don't and some can't.  Perhaps I will get through this relatively unscathed.  I am not the one I worry about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not grieve for what I have lost but for what I realise I never had in the first place.  And at this time of the year it becomes even more apparent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At some point I will be able to sleep again, that would be nice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-298365972908358300?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/298365972908358300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=298365972908358300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/298365972908358300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/298365972908358300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/12/christmas-tree-is-up-house-is-decorated.html' title=''/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2044379208341054540</id><published>2007-11-25T21:09:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-25T21:11:07.343Z</updated><title type='text'>Sense</title><content type='html'>An old Cherokee woman is telling her granddaughter about a fight that is going on inside her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said it is between two wolves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One is evil: Anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other is good: Joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The granddaughter thought about it for a moment and then asked her grandmother, "Which wolf wins?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old Cherokee woman simply replied,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The one I feed."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2044379208341054540?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2044379208341054540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2044379208341054540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2044379208341054540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2044379208341054540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/sense.html' title='Sense'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7342853063869397622</id><published>2007-11-25T00:30:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-25T00:46:20.736Z</updated><title type='text'>When I Know Something Important Is Happening...</title><content type='html'>...avoid the phone. Seriously; I have realised that whenever something big is about to commence in my life, something that will take up my attention to the point I won't want to stress about anything else - he kicks off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am screening calls this weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boys are in childcare next week, for a short time before and after school, while I take my induction course for becoming a proper wage slave again in January.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whilst doing my last &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;OU&lt;/span&gt; course it always seemed to be that a drama would occur around about the exact same time as an assignment was due. Without fail. Drama brought on from nothing as well, a speciality of his mother when she was alive (at one point the story went that she was to have her arm amputated - you couldn't make this up! She didn't and I was never brave enough to challenge it, although the wicked side was sorely tempted.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have hoped that these drama-queen moments were in the past. A phone message left late last week indicated otherwise. I will do my best to avoid it. Let her deal with his attitude now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7342853063869397622?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7342853063869397622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7342853063869397622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7342853063869397622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7342853063869397622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/when-you-know-something-important-is.html' title='When I Know Something Important Is Happening...'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6579446546869173995</id><published>2007-11-18T22:01:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-18T22:19:22.092Z</updated><title type='text'>This Was The End</title><content type='html'>There was I, in a moment of elation last week, thinking that it would soon be time to wind this section of my life up. How much navel-gazing can a person do after all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had wanted this separated from my ordinary blog due to the nature of the posts. I wanted a place to come and...lets face it have a bloody good moan. And I've had a lot to moan about. I've always been of the opinion that when you have a problem get it off your mind by having a gripe then solve it. Otherwise you just twist yourself into pieces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had my gripe and still found myself twisting away!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is still a need for this blog to continue, it seems like I get an answer, shown a way out of our current situation, only to find another problem lying in the way. Oh if only it were only one problem, usually it is two or three. I know what I want to happen, I know if only I could get a hand up from somewhere, get given a clear run without worries and stresses about the mess he left behind -what a huge difference that would make.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was given a great compliment, sent wrapped in an email and an option for that job I so wanted. After not believing in myself for so long it nearly made me cry to hear someone say they saw something worthwhile. So I will do my best, enjoy my job when it starts in the new year and ignore the fact that due to the ridiculous situation this country is in, it will probably financially kill us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6579446546869173995?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6579446546869173995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6579446546869173995' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6579446546869173995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6579446546869173995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/this-was-end.html' title='This Was The End'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6952404038062876753</id><published>2007-11-15T23:37:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-15T23:39:18.199Z</updated><title type='text'>Why Do Liars Bother?</title><content type='html'>Even when you find out the truth, even when you have proof that the lie exists, even when the lie is pointless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why go on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why keep on lying?  Why deny the truth when it is there for all to see?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't understand it.  And I never will.  Is the lie more important than anything else?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6952404038062876753?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6952404038062876753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6952404038062876753' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6952404038062876753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6952404038062876753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/why-do-liars-bother.html' title='Why Do Liars Bother?'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-420436379498601325</id><published>2007-11-11T19:57:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-12-10T20:04:42.300Z</updated><title type='text'>Gaining Perspective</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/RzdgF-KRefI/AAAAAAAAAHo/VPWYrFwHIfk/s1600-h/Belgium2006+133+Menin+Gate+memorial+to+the+55,000+missing+WWI+dead,+Ieper.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131675956113668594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/RzdgF-KRefI/AAAAAAAAAHo/VPWYrFwHIfk/s400/Belgium2006+133+Menin+Gate+memorial+to+the+55,000+missing+WWI+dead,+Ieper.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/RzdfUOKReeI/AAAAAAAAAHg/w2rDg0-E5yI/s1600-h/Belgium2006+131+Menin+Gate.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We lead lucky lives now compared to then. With all the troubles I face nothing comes close to what families went through then...nothing at all. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Menin Gate, Ieper&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;May 2006&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-420436379498601325?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/420436379498601325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=420436379498601325' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/420436379498601325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/420436379498601325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/gaining-perspective.html' title='Gaining Perspective'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/RzdgF-KRefI/AAAAAAAAAHo/VPWYrFwHIfk/s72-c/Belgium2006+133+Menin+Gate+memorial+to+the+55,000+missing+WWI+dead,+Ieper.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2941665913540331582</id><published>2007-11-07T21:13:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-07T21:41:34.616Z</updated><title type='text'>I Should Give Up Now</title><content type='html'>Add the price of a new exhaust to my list of woes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2941665913540331582?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2941665913540331582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2941665913540331582' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2941665913540331582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2941665913540331582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-should-give-up-now.html' title='I Should Give Up Now'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-8550788592078208069</id><published>2007-11-05T13:09:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-01-04T22:42:55.026Z</updated><title type='text'>Some Day....</title><content type='html'>I know some day, when I am out of this situation properly, I will laugh til I am sick. You know that photo of Nicole &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Kidman&lt;/span&gt;, when she divorced wee Tom Cruise and was pictured outside the lawyer's office, arms outstretched and face tilted up to the sun with a look of relief on it - I understand that now. I get where she was coming from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is now sending emails stating that I should get over him as he has moved on!!! So I have explained, in as plain terms as possible, that I wouldn't take him back if he were covered in gold and dipped in chocolate. He has such an ego, such a selfish swine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He also presumed that I would be buying him presents (plural) from the boys to him. Well, at school the boys have designed their Christmas card, he can get one of those and that is all. There was also a strange invite for him to pick them up on Saturday for dinner so I asked the boys if they wanted to go to dinner with daddy and her and they looked at me like I had gone mad. No, says eldest, daddy won't play with me then! I like our weekends, they are so much more relaxed than when he was here. The dinner invitation is strange and I can only assume it was to introduce the boys to other people in his new life. Do I force them to go?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-8550788592078208069?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8550788592078208069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=8550788592078208069' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8550788592078208069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8550788592078208069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/some-day.html' title='Some Day....'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2539519511244245880</id><published>2007-11-01T22:34:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-01T22:47:49.845Z</updated><title type='text'>Interestingly...</title><content type='html'>Despite all the stories of insurance companies trying every trick not to pay out it would seem that mine, at least, wasn't too bothered once I had explained the whole sorry scenario. Well, I have told them that the neighbour was driving, not the owner of the car so they cannot say I didn't tell them at any future date. According to another neighbour who saw the accident she was travelling at some speed and apparently always drives erratically, well you would if you had never had a licence. I just get all the luck. This is my first ever car accident in the 18 years* I have been driving and not something I wish to ever repeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all I now have the excess to pay. Is this going to continue until I go bust? I didn't sleep easy before, it is near impossible now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I miss our dog. I miss him terribly. I find myself scanning the ads even though I know I lack the funds to support so much as a goldfish right now, even though I know I have always bought rescue and not through the ads. I wish I could have our dog back and worst of all so do the boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;em&gt;I look at that and feel really old now. It is true, I passed on 11 October 1989, a couple of months before I turned 18. That means that next year it will have been 20 years since I left high school, oh god. Procrastination for 20 years, it should be outlawed. Makes me realise the importance of school kids leaving school with some idea of where they want their lives to go rather than just dotting from unsatisfying job to unsatisfying job and wasting the best years.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2539519511244245880?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2539519511244245880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2539519511244245880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2539519511244245880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2539519511244245880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/11/interestingly.html' title='Interestingly...'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3265784287673376511</id><published>2007-10-31T14:21:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-10-31T14:29:55.116Z</updated><title type='text'>Another Day In Paradise</title><content type='html'>Lets start this morning.  I backed into a neighbours car, a neighbour who apparently doesn't have a licence let alone insurance for her "friend's" car.  She must have been driving pretty fast for me not to see her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was already turning into one of those days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I get an irate call from him, are there any other kind?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;CSA&lt;/span&gt; have told him that they will be taking £400 per month from his wages.  I know for a fact that despite there then being a surplus between what they take and what I already get I will not get any more.  Yet I will still have to pay out all those bloody debts he left.  Oh he was clever to leave them with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As my request for help did not work I am left wondering what to do.  I am supposed to start work next month at some point but now am faced with the problem that I cannot afford to!  A ridiculous situation but as I have not been unemployed for 6 months then I am not allowed to get any help during the transition to going onto a monthly wage.  It makes me sick when I think how much effort I put into that interview, I am going to try and beg them to let me come in on the next intake which would be after my 6 month.  So stupid, so so stupid that they do this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AT SOME POINT I HAVE TO CATCH A BREAK BECAUSE THIS SURELY CANNOT GO ON!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3265784287673376511?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3265784287673376511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3265784287673376511' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3265784287673376511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3265784287673376511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/another-day-in-paradise.html' title='Another Day In Paradise'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2924312485488369464</id><published>2007-10-29T22:52:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-10-29T22:57:44.901Z</updated><title type='text'>No Angel For Me?</title><content type='html'>I know that I have failed as a mother to provide a stable family life for my sons, security and all that brings with it.  I give them love and hide all this from them, it is my job to ensure they grow and flourish and that this has no lasting effect beyond a lesson in responsibilities and commitment.  Yet I have still failed, and that is what cuts the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked for help, I did not receive, somewhere along the line I will understand why.  So I am still at the end of the string for him to control.  Perhaps I am not deserving enough, well I am aware that in the grand scheme of things we are not yet at rock bottom.  I had hoped that it would not happen though, I had hoped that with a little help from some good &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Samaritans&lt;/span&gt; I could start to rebuild, we could turn things around.  It still feels like a punishment for being stupid and naive which is how I feel on a good day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2924312485488369464?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2924312485488369464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2924312485488369464' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2924312485488369464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2924312485488369464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/no-angel-for-me.html' title='No Angel For Me?'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-1960550991620107519</id><published>2007-10-26T15:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-26T15:38:12.061+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Spoke Too Soon</title><content type='html'>Temptation is truly an irresistable urge.  Such as tempting fate.  Which I am guilty of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I presume I had not reached my quota of having to deal with huffy phone calls this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am looking on this as training for when my sons reach their difficult teenage years, I will be well prepared for the stroppy, moody lightening-change of attitude.  I have to look on the positive side of this for otherwise I would simply disappear.  Why do some people insist on making life so much harder than it could/should be?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-1960550991620107519?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1960550991620107519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=1960550991620107519' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1960550991620107519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1960550991620107519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/spoke-too-soon.html' title='Spoke Too Soon'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7345689843201027658</id><published>2007-10-25T22:13:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T22:22:26.465+01:00</updated><title type='text'>And The Wheel Turns Full Circle</title><content type='html'>He is back to being somewhat nice to me.  That is I haven't been called a name of late. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has left me short, he knows it, he probably enjoys it and he knows I cannot complain.  For he has nothing at all.  Or so he says. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is physically exhausting having to deal with this, I could do without it.  I've never been that good with deceitful people, cannot fathom out why they would go to such an effort to lie all the time.  And it wears me down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7345689843201027658?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7345689843201027658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7345689843201027658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7345689843201027658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7345689843201027658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/and-wheel-turns-full-circle.html' title='And The Wheel Turns Full Circle'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-618345365475646420</id><published>2007-10-21T21:17:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T22:50:20.558Z</updated><title type='text'>It Is Written In The Stars</title><content type='html'>While discussing our ex-husbands (both men Virgo strangely enough and so similar they could be twins in their controlling, bullying, overly critical manner) with another single mother I told her that I have likened this period in time as having taken off a tight corset. You suddenly feel yourself relax and unstiffen and then wondered why you put yourself through it in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realise how true this is. The relief that it is over now regardless of the continual churning inside due to leftover financial disasters (which, again, her Virgo-ex left her with too!) I did mention to him when he phoned in a panic over his bank account that now he knew how I felt every single day but I doubt he took it in or gave that a moments thought. I am short this month from what he has given me but what can I do, he already has his excuse. The money I had set aside to pay the next bill due in (gas and electricity) is now gone to his debts. This is how it is going to be and I can imagine it will get worse the minute I start work and he takes it as done that he need not pay me at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Corset off though, that is always something at least. Even if the price is high we three will come through this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-618345365475646420?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/618345365475646420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=618345365475646420' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/618345365475646420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/618345365475646420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/while-discussing-our-ex-husbands-both.html' title='It Is Written In The Stars'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6932581210672628092</id><published>2007-10-20T21:09:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-20T21:24:29.375+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Manipulation</title><content type='html'>I have never thought myself particularly dumb before. Oh certainly there are what I call 'senior moments' which are allowed, even in the mid-thirties, if one has children. However the fact that even now he can still manipulate the situation, knowing what my reactions will be, must make me the biggest idiot ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just can't stop though. As I scrabble about to get enough together to make the next weeks deadlines I know I will not phone to say that he has left me dangerously short. What is the point? This is how he wins, this is how he gets to live a life stress free while I have to go on. Knowing that I hate to be living a life like this, knowing how carefully I had always been for these situations never to occur until that moment where, through persuasion, I took my eye off the ball as the saying goes. Knowing that he has made a joke of everything I considered a value.  Slowly I am rebuilding my life and piecing together again the person I was and the person I should have remained, before I got carried away making excuses for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mess just gets deeper and stickier and I don't even tell him that I am aware of what he is doing. What would be the point. He hasn't learned any lesson, he continues as he has always done and he relishes that I cannot stop him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6932581210672628092?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6932581210672628092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6932581210672628092' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6932581210672628092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6932581210672628092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/manipulation.html' title='Manipulation'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3144132390387911310</id><published>2007-10-19T22:37:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-20T21:26:04.088+01:00</updated><title type='text'>What Is That Clucking Sound?</title><content type='html'>It must be the chickens coming home to roost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He phones in a state of panic. Someone has arrested his wages and cleared out his bank account. That will be the bank account he said he didn't have? And he wants me to do something about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What can I do? It is not my business, I don't know who he owes money to other than the debts I deal with and they are ticking along. Of course now he has no money, or perhaps this is his story so he can stop giving me money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Argh, I am sick of money, everything revolving around money. I want to be able to sleep through the night. I have been told by one of the debtors (that is a word right?) that when I start work the amount paid to them will automatically go up. Great, so while I try and get my little family out of this mess it follows me nipping at my heels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend wrote to me recently saying that she wishes she could give me a winning lottery ticket or a long holiday. Thank you for the sentiment Hazelnuttin, the fact you care is enough, worth a lot more!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3144132390387911310?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3144132390387911310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3144132390387911310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3144132390387911310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3144132390387911310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/what-is-that-clucking-sound.html' title='What Is That Clucking Sound?'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3811618387642046298</id><published>2007-10-15T23:49:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-15T23:58:41.514+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Guardian Angel</title><content type='html'>I heard that if you are in need of help asking for a guardian angel works.  Well, I'm ready to believe in anything at the moment, random kindness of strangers, paying it forward, whatever works in helping us out of this situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking back to how many times I have helped people and never asked for anything in return.  In fact I hate asking anyone for help despite my willingness to come to the aid of others (because it genuinely is better to give than receive.)  I inherited this from my father, I can see that as clear as day and interestingly he was often used as a doormat by other people who would take everything from his generous soul. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have now asked for help.  We shall see if I am deserving enough.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3811618387642046298?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3811618387642046298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3811618387642046298' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3811618387642046298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3811618387642046298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/guardian-angel.html' title='Guardian Angel'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-4544269042311982617</id><published>2007-10-14T23:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-14T23:35:39.379+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Truth Really Will Out</title><content type='html'>I have not to email him again because apparently the emails go through the servers at his work and we wouldn't want them to find out his dirty little secret now would we?  Actually not being the type of person who would do that offers me some comfort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which explains the unbelievable tone of his email accusing me of taking money off him.  The email was for whoever was looking.  The answer is too now, only I did not know it at the time.  Now whoever he thinks is reading his emails will know the truth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why he was so viciously nasty to me.  How long will it be before new girlfriend discovers his nasty side.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-4544269042311982617?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4544269042311982617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=4544269042311982617' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4544269042311982617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4544269042311982617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/truth-really-will-out.html' title='The Truth Really Will Out'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-4258810773984118145</id><published>2007-10-13T23:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-14T00:09:32.410+01:00</updated><title type='text'>It Comes To This</title><content type='html'>This is the reply I got. I feel my heart sink to my toes, God am I to keep getting this until I crack? Is that what he wants?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Sorry ***** but you are getting no money on Monday. My wages are fully accounted for. I gave you money at the end of the month and said to you then that was all you were getting&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;strong&gt;((No he&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;did no such thing!))&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;I cannot be expected to keep you and myself living in separate lives. I am more than willing to pay for the boys as they are my responsibility&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((??? He hasn't paid anything yet))&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;but ***** you are not my responsibility&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;strong&gt;((Never said I was, does he think I have been living off of what he gives me? He hasn't even covered the debts he left us with yet.))&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;***** you seem to think that I have changed in so many different ways and I have not changed at all.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((So he was always a swine, just kept it well hidden?))&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;I paid all the bills when we were together&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((No because if you had we wouldn't be in this mess))&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;and I am in no way running away from my responsibilities.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((If you say so but it sure looks like it to me.))&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;If the shoe was on the other foot yes I would trust you to keep to what arrangement was made.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((Yes and that is my problem, I always keep my word and can be relied upon, more fool me. No glory in being a doormat.))&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;I have never not paid you money to keep the boys&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((??? Did I miss payments somewhere))&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;and that is the main point here. If you want to make things legal then by all means go to the csa paula. You will only come out of this each month with less money than what you are now.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((Is that a threat or something?))&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;From now on I will pay the money direct into your bank account by standing order. Give me the bank details that you want the money paid into pls.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;((Yes I will give you my bank details and watch you rip me off?))&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again I am left to cry over the phone to my poor mother because I have no other option if I want to stay sane.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-4258810773984118145?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4258810773984118145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=4258810773984118145' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4258810773984118145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4258810773984118145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/it-comes-to-this.html' title='It Comes To This'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-1422559780299062275</id><published>2007-10-13T20:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-13T21:26:40.565+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Clarifying The Situation</title><content type='html'>The lies I fell for, fool that I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew we were in arrears in our rent due to a mix up last year, I believed him when he told me he was paying that off and we only had a tiny amount left to pay.  Lie, he paid none of it so therefore I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of the budget I worked out each month, from the amount he told me was there because the statements were always "fine" I carefully organised the bills, which he dealt with and the household money, which I dealt with.  The rent was worked out and he always handed the cheque in so where did the rest go?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also bills such as the gas, which seems to have fallen by the wayside.  The amount owed on that is eye-watering yet this was supposed to be paid through bill payments.  He would go off with the phone and come back, all is paid, all is well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He used my credit card for months, without my knowledge, without my consent.  Unfortunately for him they sent me an unmarked letter when the limit went over and a payment was missed.  What did he spend the money on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The council tax also wasn't getting paid.  I had set up a direct debit which he subsequently cancelled.  Again the amount is enough to cause sleepless nights for life, we are talking arrears over several years here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are only the ones I have been left with.  He owes a lot more to a lot more companies but as they are not attached to this address they have gone off after him.  So I am left with the rest. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my punishment for trusting and believing in someone and for loving them enough to let them fool me completely.  My punishment for being so involved in caring for my twins, in helping out and volunteering and trying to be everything to everybody (including him who I did so much for, nothing was enough and he was never satisfied) and all the time the rot was setting in.  The rot that eats at my soul, guilt at never having guessed at what was going on.  While we laughed and joked and I wondered why he never joined in wholeheartedly, tried to find out the problem and again and again was fobbed off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here I am, left to deal with these, the largest amounts he owes, as far as I know anyway.  It feels good though to know that now I am in full charge that the direct debits are sent, the bills paid on time.  It is just these debts that cause the problems, I don't have the means to pay them off, he knows this and he knows that while he enjoys his new life he can still control mine through the purse strings.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-1422559780299062275?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1422559780299062275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=1422559780299062275' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1422559780299062275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1422559780299062275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/clarifying-situation.html' title='Clarifying The Situation'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3231598269986904532</id><published>2007-10-13T20:41:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-13T20:55:18.866+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Its The Same Old Song Playing All The Time</title><content type='html'>Money, money, money, monnneeey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I emailed him the amount he owes, this of course does not include any maintenence for the boys.  I have not had one single penny toward that, in fact as he has constantly been short with the money he gives me he is actually taking money away from us.  Not that this concerns him of course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of seeing that I am needing to organise payments to keep the wolves from the door, he sees it as hassling him once again.  Which I suppose I am, but what else am I supposed to do?  He tells me one thing and then another, he lies and then lies about the lies.  He is desperate for me to tell him that I have gotten this job, as he will then see it as a free reign not to bother paying me ever again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What did we do to deserve this?  Why can't he see that all he needs to do is tell me how much he is giving me and when so I know the payments can be made, payments I am having to make because he left me with them?  I sometimes want to just scream with frustration, I wonder if his new girlfriend knows this, or am I portrayed as the evil ex constantly hounding him over money (not bothering about the bit where it is the money he owes rather than me so in fact he isn't paying me at all.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot be bothered with this anymore.  Tonight he was screaming about how he will set up a direct debit then he will never have to come to the house again...so you have a bank account says I.  Silence, and then denial, no of course not he has to set up one.  God will there be one day where he doesn't lie?  I am sick of lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.  And I see him continuing the same as ever, having learned nothing.  I only hope this doesn't cost the girlfriend her car or house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There has to be a way out of this somehow.  I cannot stand it much longer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3231598269986904532?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3231598269986904532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3231598269986904532' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3231598269986904532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3231598269986904532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/its-same-old-song-playing-all-time.html' title='Its The Same Old Song Playing All The Time'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-9121101421457370646</id><published>2007-10-08T22:49:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T23:13:07.873+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing Mummy</title><content type='html'>Saturday, after much deliberation, once again he shouts about having to do things according to "my rules" before getting his own way again.  I am so weak yet so fed up of being bullied by him.  I state that we never do my rules but always his and it goes without comment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, because I need for my sons to see their father I agree to them once again going to his new house.  I am very aware of his treating this new girlfriend the way he once treated me.  Hold her at arms length from anyone who may just tell her the truth about him.  I see him use his sons the way he once used his nephew with me, playing happy families on days out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wants unsupervised access but he is playing his game well.  He is never unsupervised because his new girlfriend is always there, playing mummy with my sons.  She is trying to buy their love and because he does not know or understand them he is allowing her to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, he can now paint me as the jealous ex.  I see the relish in his eyes as he realises this.  He does not understand, nor does he wish to, that my annoyance has nothing to do with this poor woman who is alarmingly very like his sister in attitude.  To me he acts as though she is demanding to be present at every outing.  I know she is there because he cannot look after his own sons himself.  He is pretending to her that he is the caring father who is battling his awful ex just to see his own boys.  I wonder what he tells her because I would imagine the last thing he would ever want is for me to speak to her directly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would bet money that she knows nothing of the debts he left with us.  I would bet money that she knows nothing of the way he treated me for years, and I allowed him to I am guilty of that.  I would bet money she knows nothing of the lies and manipulation that she has just walked into.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he is counting on his control of me to remain such that she will never find out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he twists the knife.  Makes sure her constant attendence for every visit is a source of irritation for me.  Joy to him that my sons are confident enough in themselves to like her (not realising that she is to them a friend, I am their mother and that is that.)  I see his game, I know his plans and from this moment on I will not enter into it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does he want me to be jealous of her?  Does he want me to argue, shout, have hysterics?  The Stokes family trait, as laid down in law by his mother, is for the smallest thing to become a huge drama.  Not for them the idea of finding a solution for a problem, instead the problem would be magnified unnecessarily with much wringing of hands and grand statements.  It was never my way, at best I was bemused by the whole rigmarole for every single issue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time for this to stop.  From now on I must put effort into not partaking of the nonsense.  Of taking a step back.  Amazingly I have found that in the past few weeks little parts of my character, ones that I thought had died long ago, are resurfacing.  The person I once was before I fell for the manipulation and lies is coming back.  And about time too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-9121101421457370646?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/9121101421457370646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=9121101421457370646' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/9121101421457370646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/9121101421457370646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/10/playing-mummy.html' title='Playing Mummy'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7295227787882743770</id><published>2007-09-30T20:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T21:01:55.050+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll Sail This Ship Alone</title><content type='html'>There are sometimes, while I try to remain &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;buoyant&lt;/span&gt; in front of everyone else that I am almost overwhelmed by this crushing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;loneliness&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I remember how lonely I was while he was here, and that nothing has really changed for me in that respect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this why I so enjoy &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persuasion_(novel)"&gt;Persuasion&lt;/a&gt;?  The ache of hope that all is not lost and that there is a chance for happiness no matter what, no matter how many mistakes you have made.  I do wander into melancholy if I dwell on my situation too long.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7295227787882743770?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7295227787882743770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7295227787882743770' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7295227787882743770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7295227787882743770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/09/ill-sail-this-ship-alone.html' title='I&apos;ll Sail This Ship Alone'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-2688841050450066520</id><published>2007-09-25T22:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T23:04:55.419+01:00</updated><title type='text'>How Can I Put This So You Will Understand?</title><content type='html'>He still doesn't get it. The money thing. He still doesn't get that he has to pay his debts, he still doesn't get that I am not taking all his money and having wild parties. Every penny goes towards paying off his debts, every penny and not one goes towards raising his sons. Yet he hints at how much money he thinks I am getting and how I should be using that to pay the debts. Presumably we should then live off fresh air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have positive signals of work, or at least an interview which is a step in the right direction. Oh I hope but then, as soon as I start earning he will feel the need to pay up less and less. I worry I will end up paying his debts off and ending up in a worse state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish for a guardian angel, I wish it could all be gone and we three could get on with our lives. He is the complication, he is the only problem. I am rebuilding the family, I am raising happy and healthy boys who know right from wrong, who know not to lie. And who will know financial sense, I'll make sure of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trust and stupidity, I am guilty of both.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-2688841050450066520?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2688841050450066520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=2688841050450066520' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2688841050450066520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/2688841050450066520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/09/how-can-i-put-this-so-you-will.html' title='How Can I Put This So You Will Understand?'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-4065278958790335352</id><published>2007-09-17T20:48:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T21:03:08.819+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Is It Something I Did In A Previous Life?</title><content type='html'>Today I travel all the way to where he is now staying, an arrangement I am not too happy with but he will win regardless.  I leave my sons there on the promise they are to be returned around "4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt;."  I am being reasonable, I am being generous so why doesn't he see that?  Why does he continually tell me that seeing me and hearing me makes him shake with anger, makes his blood boil?  What does he hope to achieve by saying this?  Would it be better if I just gave up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have my sons, we are doing great, and then he contacts us.  He knows he has financially crippled me, he knows I am stuck in this town with no hope.  I am trying my best, I am continuing to offer my sons a stable, loving home life, I need to be an example rather than someone to be pitied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wants this, then he wants that, then he changes his mind, then it is me keeping the boys from him rather than him constantly rearranging everything.  He has had his unsupervised access, it worries me but I have no choice.  He would turn me into the "nasty ex keeping my children from me."  The things he says I know this is how he portrays me to others.  It is not so, I am so weary of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He lives with a couple, apparently.  Only she is there today, only she is mentioned, the house is small, too small for 3 adults to live comfortably.  They have 2 dogs, I think of Alex and my heart sinks further.  We had a dog, because of him we no longer do.  I miss Alex more than him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she is there the whole afternoon, she plays with the boys, I make a joke of him having someone else do the work but he calls me stroppy for saying that.  I cannot say one word that is not misunderstood, that does not provoke him into backlash.  The way he speaks to me, did he ever love me? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boys are returned, loving this new person in their lives.  I hold her no malice, anyone who treats the boys well is fine in my book and to be honest I would more pity her for falling under the manipulative spell of him.  Youngest twin cuddles into me for the rest of the afternoon, quiet and reserved and unlike him.  Eldest gets on with the business of playing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both tell me that this person is "daddy's girlfriend."  I phone him to ask, it would be nice if for once he told me the truth, it isn't like I mind.  Another fight, so easy to do, I repeat what I am saying as he doesn't seem to hear.  He definitely doesn't hear, so he shouts, like he always does.  I am telling him what his sons are saying, not telling him what I am saying but he can't understand this.  So he shouts, he tells me how awful I am despite all I have done so his sons can see him.  He says that he is having to move mountains when he won't cross a bridge due to roadworks meaning a 45 minute delay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How much he hates me.  What have I done that is so bad?  Why am I being punished?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-4065278958790335352?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4065278958790335352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=4065278958790335352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4065278958790335352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4065278958790335352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/09/is-it-something-i-did-in-previous-life.html' title='Is It Something I Did In A Previous Life?'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-259073487852115048</id><published>2007-09-05T12:00:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T12:09:41.888+01:00</updated><title type='text'>At A Loss</title><content type='html'>Looking back on Sundays events I begin to realise what truly went on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His refusal to have supervised visits, his refusal to have me drop the boys off at a specified location and wait for them, his refusal to do one thing he asked as soon as I agreed to it.  (Take them to the local town shopping centre, yes I would do that and suddenly that is no good anymore.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He demanded that he take them to this new place he is staying, a place I have not the address for, phone number for just the general location in the name of the town.  Would I think he would do anything to hurt my sons?  Perhaps not but again he would make sure I couldn't contact him during the time they were away, he would be late enough on returning to have me seriously worried.  And again my main concern, he cannot control his anger with me (now he says he didn't throw the phone at me but at the floor...where I was standing), what about when the boys behave as boys?  Without me there to step in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he did live here I would beg him to go play with them.  Go build Lego things, play cars or train or something, interact with them.  He complained he had no bond with them so that was my solution then.  So up the stairs he would go, and they would play in their room and he would switch the computer on and that would be that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has always been thus.  Here is the problem, I have to find the solution, that is not good enough for him and he remains unhappy with it.  What can I do?  What can I do?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-259073487852115048?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/259073487852115048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=259073487852115048' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/259073487852115048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/259073487852115048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/09/at-loss.html' title='At A Loss'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6851671058180626583</id><published>2007-09-02T23:26:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-02T23:41:12.973+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Every Single Line Of Relevance</title><content type='html'>If I had a theme tune it would be &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8x_QDBRWjI"&gt;this &lt;/a&gt;at the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, not good.  He phones, acts like I am keeping his sons from him, fails to understand my position, fails to see anything from any other viewpoint but his own.  Uses my own sons as pawns in his game.  Complains that these are my rules when what he demands is that I do things by his rules.  Twists and turns and all the same, again I am blamed for not doing as he says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He does not see how his actions have come across, does not see that he is being unreasonable in expecting me to allow my sons to go, alone, into a car with someone who only recently talked of killing himself (and who today said to me "You'd be glad if I just jumped off a bridge" this is how he talks of killing himself, off a bridge by jumping or driving) who acts like I am this awful person.  Who is using any little jibe he can at the moment to get me to rise to the bait.  He fails to see that he is hurting the boys, he fails to see that I have and still would bend over backwards to accommodate his seeing them but that considering all he has done and said I am scared, yes bloody scared, to let him drive off with my sons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I shall be portrayed as the baddie.  The mean ex who denies access when really all I have done is ask for one small thing, one tiny thing that any other father would jump on for the chance to see his children.  I nearly give in, I nearly do but I have far more to lose in this, I have my sons to lose and no amount of emotional blackmail, no amount of shouting that I am laying down the rules will make me put my sons in a situation I am not comfortable with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what to do.  I don't know what to do, I'm going to need advice from people who deal with this all the time, I need help to get over what he has done to me over the years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just because this doesn't leave a visable bruise doesn't mean the pain is not significant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting stronger. I'm getting stronger.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6851671058180626583?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6851671058180626583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6851671058180626583' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6851671058180626583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6851671058180626583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/09/every-single-line-of-relevance.html' title='Every Single Line Of Relevance'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3129136762233206065</id><published>2007-08-30T22:33:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T22:52:59.200+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Have You Heard?</title><content type='html'>The money issue again. Isn't it always.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He visits, just after lunchtime on Tuesday, he was supposed to visit that evening to see the boys and how I am glad now that he didn't. For had they witnessed what was to happen I don't know how they would have acted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the money, says he. It is not quite enough to cover HIS debts which I am paying off, there will not be so much as a penny left for the boys. This does not bother me as much as needing a guarantee that he will give me the money regularly - if he doesn't I am sunk. And doesn't he know that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In his usual manner, perhaps out of embarrassment or guilt at having left his wife in such a situation, he blows up. The shouting could be heard in a house across the street and a good few doors down. I know this, for the neighbour told another one who happens to be a friend. In her words he was "laying in to me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am so glad she heard it. For according to him I was the one who started it, I was the one who did it all, we can't talk to each other and now I am keeping his sons from him. That would be his version then. The truth, as always, is so far removed from what he says as to be in another time zone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After punching the wall and throwing his mobile phone he left, I told him I no longer wanted him anywhere near the house, he could pop the money in an envelope through the letterbox. I cannot have any more of this. He has no right to keep bullying me and I cannot believe how much of a facade my marriage was, I wanted so much for us to work that I overlooked the control and bullying. I've been a fool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have also laid a condition that to see the boys he needs to organise supervised access. I have to admit this, and it is hard, but after Tuesday I am scared. I am scared of how far he will go to put me through a living hell. I am scared how quickly the anger takes over him and how he never seems to remember what has gone on or what he has done (and forget waiting for an apology that is never going to happen.) I need to know my sons are safe. I think I am being more than reasonable, I have tried my best through this, I have bent over backwards so he could see the boys and he continually cancels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has said he never wants to speak to me again, he acts like I am the worst person to ever have crossed his path. I know he is playing on my insecurities that go back to childhood, he plays the game well, he plays me well and knows exactly which method will achieve the best results. My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;insecurity&lt;/span&gt; over never being good enough, never being listened to or cared about. I told him all of this and now he uses it against me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else will he do, I do not know. But I do know this. I cannot let him drive off with the only things I have left in the world, the ones that are more important to me than anything. Even if he wouldn't do anything to them I guarantee he would be late home, the mobile phone (number keeps changing too) would be turned off and anything else that would send me worrying to an early grave would be done. He would do this to destroy me. I cannot let my boys be used like that. Supervised visits would keep me sane, I would feel my sons were safe and not about to be smacked or shouted at.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never felt so alone. I feel a huge burden on me and every time I feel we are getting somewhere there is the shadow of him looming over me ready to kick me back into place. My mother says he does it out of guilt, my friend says it is because I don't cry over him anymore and am living my life. Whatever it is I wish no longer to be a part of his game.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3129136762233206065?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3129136762233206065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3129136762233206065' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3129136762233206065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3129136762233206065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/08/have-you-heard.html' title='Have You Heard?'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3246932996940771598</id><published>2007-08-26T00:04:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-26T00:10:30.149+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Knife</title><content type='html'>Money, money, money&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, all the things I could if I had a little money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ABBA said it best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has cancelled tomorrow, he is in a huff.  I mention the finances, I mention the debts he has to pay that he thought he was running away from.  He is not happy.  I have upset him so now it is his turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I was asked out, I was supposed to go out tonight with someone I met at work."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lucky her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although what he does is not concerning me in that direction it is the thought he is using this as a knife to stick in when I annoy him does concern me.  Does he think I bother that he is out fishing for dates?  What a catch he would make, no money, adulterer, no home.  Yet I know him, I know his charm and ability to make you believe in his tales.  Whoever she is I feel sorry for her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3246932996940771598?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3246932996940771598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3246932996940771598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3246932996940771598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3246932996940771598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/08/knife.html' title='The Knife'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-4102926744321123847</id><published>2007-08-24T23:00:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-24T23:09:11.919+01:00</updated><title type='text'>And Its Getting Better</title><content type='html'>Apart from the financial side (which will stress and worry me until I pluck up enough courage to contact a solicitor) this is feeling a lot less awful now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course it is difficult when he visits the boys.  I cannot speak to him over finances or he goes nuts, again I think I may need a solicitor and I really have never trusted them.  I don't trust him either though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will all fall into place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will get better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will be the best thing that ever happened to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to get out of this town but his ability to get us into arrears with the rent means I am stuck here, I need a miracle.  I need a winning lottery ticket.  I need to pay off the debts he has left me with even though he promises that he will pay them I believe it when I see it happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inside I am exhausted.  Looking after the boys, looking for work, organising and sorting everything out.  I just want to lie down and sleep for a week.  It is nice having my bed to myself, although I miss cuddles, it is nice to have the house tidy and clean.  I will keep telling myself these positives so I no longer feel the loss of a friend (though a false one) and love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-4102926744321123847?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4102926744321123847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=4102926744321123847' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4102926744321123847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/4102926744321123847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/08/and-its-getting-better.html' title='And Its Getting Better'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-5885911188008244498</id><published>2007-08-15T23:51:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-15T23:55:28.017+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Power Of Control</title><content type='html'>This one is easy.  Pretending you are in control of things that are so out of control they have ceased to be funny a long time ago.  Yet in this pretence the power scale moves, and for once the control is not in his hands.  I am no longer under his influence, I had never realised that this was the case before but these new days are enlightening in so many ways.  The marriage I thought I had was nothing to the reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if only I had been the one to win the £35million EuroMillions.  Money to never have to worry again, money to be generous to others in similar situations, that would be nice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-5885911188008244498?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5885911188008244498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=5885911188008244498' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5885911188008244498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/5885911188008244498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/08/power-of-control.html' title='Power Of Control'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-1943758908624532206</id><published>2007-08-07T17:20:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-07T17:23:58.644+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Spanner In The Works</title><content type='html'>There is always something that happens, completely out of my control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Postal strikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I await paperwork from everything including Child Tax Credits as well as some job applications.  The posties seem to be on strike at possibly the worst time for me as until the forms are filled and resent then I won't get money to survive on.  It is the small things that have the impact where looking at the larger picture it won't even be noticed.  I do not expect them to care, I do not expect them to know and I do not expect I am the only person to be caught up like this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just one thing after another.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-1943758908624532206?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1943758908624532206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=1943758908624532206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1943758908624532206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/1943758908624532206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/08/spanner-in-works.html' title='Spanner In The Works'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-6391977490231080882</id><published>2007-08-03T20:15:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-03T20:35:27.363+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Month, Another Dilemma</title><content type='html'>There are the consequences of separation that go beyond the pain in emotions.  The ugly head of debt rears its head, the reality of running two households on very little money, the hoops that have to be jumped simply to get money to live from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all the while curling up in a corner and sobbing until sleep seems the option that would be the most satisfying.  Still to persevere throughout, to tackle the red tape, the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bureaucrats, walking through a river of treacle would be easier.  It has to be done, the crying can come later when the details are sorted, it is expected.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;There are a couple of weeks left of the summer holidays.  This is not what was planned, this is not how we had reckoned on spending the summer.  In a few months time shall we look back on this time with relief that it is over?  I hope so.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;We are in need of a fairy godmother, guardian angel, someone with a lot of money and a generous disposition.  I feel that most of all, by trusting in the person with whom I should have been able to trust wholeheartedly, I have let down my sons.  And that is what hurts the most.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-6391977490231080882?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6391977490231080882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=6391977490231080882' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6391977490231080882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/6391977490231080882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/08/another-month-another-dilemma.html' title='Another Month, Another Dilemma'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-8915921303112887072</id><published>2007-07-31T21:45:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T22:54:46.142+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dark Place</title><content type='html'>Words that are more hurtful than the fact he no longer loves me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm, let me think. How about the reason he has been acting like this, so selfish and callous, is that he slept with a woman while away with work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the bomb drops. And the world explodes. And inside I wonder what is so wrong with me that someone I thought I knew, someone I thought I loved and would be with for all days, could do the one thing guaranteed to rip me apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is it. Nothing more can be done and the life I knew is gone forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-8915921303112887072?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8915921303112887072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=8915921303112887072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8915921303112887072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/8915921303112887072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/07/dark-place.html' title='The Dark Place'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3925079419828820001</id><published>2007-07-26T23:19:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-26T23:20:48.803+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Realisation</title><content type='html'>Today I have realised something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life has turned into that &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhD3xazAaxU"&gt;Gloria Gaynor&lt;/a&gt; song, the one I absolutely detest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh dear.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3925079419828820001?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3925079419828820001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3925079419828820001' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3925079419828820001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3925079419828820001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/07/realisation.html' title='Realisation'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-3098948495960777266</id><published>2007-07-25T20:10:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-25T20:15:27.183+01:00</updated><title type='text'>And Life Goes On</title><content type='html'>In my head the reasons he should have stayed swim round and round.  The good times we had together, family days out, holidays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the lies.  The lies destroy everything good and tears change from sorrow to anger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It goes on.  The jigsaw pieces slowly form into the fuller picture, each piece uncovering another lie, each piece another painful problem to solve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet still, life goes on.  My sons, innocent and trusting, betrayed by the one person who should keep them safe.  We are three, no longer four and we are strong and will get stronger and go beyond what has happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything has changed, nothing is as it was but it will get better and we will get better and the pain will end and all will be well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-3098948495960777266?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3098948495960777266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=3098948495960777266' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3098948495960777266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/3098948495960777266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/07/and-life-goes-on.html' title='And Life Goes On'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-7014034130946318094</id><published>2007-07-21T23:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-21T23:42:18.935+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Darkest Hour Of The Darkest Day</title><content type='html'>The darkest day is nearly done.  The bags are packed, sorry the bin bags are packed and off he goes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inside I feel hollow.  Yes, that is an appropriate word, hollow.  Hollowed out by cruel words and expectations not met and rejection.  Words that cannot be taken back, messages sent to a heart no longer listening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hour is quiet, the rain falls and in this comfortable life that has been ripped apart by one selfish act must change forever.  Nothing is safe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping children, the peace they bring and the realisation that I am stronger than I believed.  I will rebuild this life for us, and face the world as three instead of four.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-7014034130946318094?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7014034130946318094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=7014034130946318094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7014034130946318094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/7014034130946318094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/07/darkest-hour-of-darkest-day.html' title='Darkest Hour Of The Darkest Day'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903739332974733271.post-654012382960334946</id><published>2007-07-21T16:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-21T17:14:38.420+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The End Of One Life And The Beginning Of Another</title><content type='html'>And so it begins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While my heart slowly repairs from the hurt it feels and my head whirrs with what I have to do next my outlet for my feelings will be here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have tried the blame game; is it me?  Did I not do enough?  Was I too much of a doormat?  Was I unreasonable in what I wanted from him?   I can't stop thinking that this is my fault but my needs have always been simple.  All I wanted from life was a husband who loved me, who made me feel secure and special, who would treat me with respect and have fun with me, who would tell me when I was being silly in a manner that wouldn't crush my spirit and who would be happy with the family we made together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what should I have done?  I tried, oh Lord did I try, I lost the person I was 9 years ago when I took my vows with a person who had already lied to me.   Oh I didn't know that then, what an excuse, I married someone who knew what they were getting, who knew what I wanted from life.  Sometimes though, and especially now I wonder if he knew me at all or did he just pretend, go along with what I was saying...but for what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He throws it up to me on many an occassion that I should have married someone with money.  That is not ever what I wanted.  We don't own our house, we don't have lots of money but happiness is free.  When it is just me and our sons then the house is harmonious, we have a laugh, play and get on with life.  But it is hard when you are married to someone who seems hell bent on destroying everything regardless of how many chances his wife gives him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who will suffer?  My beautiful boys of course.  Children need a father, they need two parents to guide them through life.  I don't want to do this on my own but I must.  My transition from stay-at-home-mum to working single parent has begun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8903739332974733271-654012382960334946?l=darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/654012382960334946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8903739332974733271&amp;postID=654012382960334946' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/654012382960334946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8903739332974733271/posts/default/654012382960334946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darkdaysdiaries.blogspot.com/2007/07/end-of-one-life-and-beginning-of.html' title='The End Of One Life And The Beginning Of Another'/><author><name>TwoIfBySea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06274312492104059952</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8IHOyiFWnE/SnilnpfT1BI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5znbZQngK3U/S220/RetroWriting.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
