My gawd my life was tumultous a year ago.
It was four months after my husband left and I was starting to feel the veil of misery lift.
According to Psych Central, there are the five stages of loss and grief after the loss of a close relationship, or to the death of a valued being, human or animal. And I decided I was through all five.
The revelation was sparked by my ex’s lack of empathy about a job I’d been approached about in Hong Kong. I had a Monday night deadline to respond to the offer and sent a message asking him to call to discuss it, but he was too busy … drinking in a bar … and said he’d give me a buzz at 8am the next morning instead …
Sure, we’d broken up. But it was my LIFE we were talking about.
And that’s when poor deluded me finally realised: he’s not my partner anymore, he’s not friend, he’s just my co-parent.
It was a defining moment.
But the week’s fun didn’t stop there.
In a blog called “Have I not suffered enough?” I revealed that Raj from the tax office had called to chastise me for not filing my 2012 and 2013 tax returns and threatened me with fines.
Lucky Raj got to hear a potted version of how shite 2012, 2013 and 2014 have been for me and, while he sounded sympathetic and assured me he was taking notes on my “situation” for my file, stood firm.
Urgently submit a tax return or pay the price.
Coincidentally, a year later I’m hassling my ex endlessly to file our 2014 tax returns so I can get Centrelink benefits. Why, you might ask, is my ex filing mine? Well, he still pays a lot of my bills and it seemed easier at the time … but three months later I’m not so sure.
And every time I suggest perhaps I should just file instead he insists he’s onto it.
He’s so not onto it.
Even he admits he’s a bit like that bloke in the ad about the health insurance, slowly disappearing into the sofa to avoid his partner’s questions.
But that’s not all folks.
I was also battling a very persistent UTI and headed to the doctor for antibiotics. He tested my blood and decided I had diabetes.
I called my mum for a moan, then my dad called me back. Dad never calls me, so I was a bit freaked out.
It turns out he has some weird genetic thing called renal glycosuria, which spews lots of glucose into your body when you exercise too much or stress too much or something. Basically harmless. But something he’d somehow forgotten to mention for the first 47 years of my life.
I was both stressed and exercising too much because the family home was going to auction that Saturday and we had NO BIDDERS.
I rounded out that particular week by thankfully selling the house a day prior to auction (amid nervy suggestions from my ex that we put off selling for a few months), nursing the youngest through a vomiting bug and getting the (negative) results of my diabetes test.
Oh, and I scored a job at Escape.com.au … may that dream role rest in peace …
I really have no idea how I stayed sane on the rollercoaster.
What a difference a year makes!
Do things tend to go wrong in clusters for you too?
Song of the day: Kelly Clarkson “Stronger”