The Thinking Other Woman

What you should know BEFORE your affair.
 

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What's currently happening in my life and what I think about all this now.

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BABY ONE MORE TIME

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on August 10, 2022 at 9:15 PM

If I hadn't seen a certain pattern of hits on here YET AGAIN (what did I say about this person disappearing for two months and then here he is again?) I would not believe a certain message I have received. But, I DO see the hits, therefore I tend to believe the message.

So, I need to leave this message:


Dude. WHY haven't I reached out to you?

Because your last instructions to me told me NOT TO.

Remember this?

"I made my bed, so I have to lie in it." 

What that means is,

"I intend to stay married."

I encroached on a marriage ONE TIME,

                                            and I will NEVER DO IT AGAIN.

So, as long as "I intend to stay married" is the last communication I have from you, I MAY NOT APPROACH.

No ... let's make that a little more clear. 

As long as "I intend to stay married" is the last instruction I have to go on,


I WILL NOT APPROACH.

I'm not going to approach unless and until I receive different instructions.

Going on the information I have, I felt compelled to leave this message.

So, if you show up and pick up this message, you will know:

                                   If you don't change,

                         neither will I.

      Hello?

You're MARRIED.

              Married,

       married,

               MARRIED.

Jesus fucking Christ, dude. I can't make this any more clear.

If you ever want to hear from me,

                              I need to hear from you.

I will not disobey your last instructions to me.

Oy.

The Time Draws Near

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on August 6, 2022 at 8:40 PM

Might as well talk about the astrology of the next three years. There’s a big split in the transits for all three people in our triangle that starts right about now. Make no mistake, the major period of action doesn’t start until this time next year, and it goes for two years … but, if no groundwork for that gets laid (groundwork like, I’m 64 years old and this is my last chance to bail if I really want a different kind of relationship for the rest of my life), nothing happens.


 

 

Even the tarot agrees. Events, I’m told, have tried their best to help this person see the reality of the life they’re living. The Universe is about to give up on this person. I know I am.


 

 

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, here. These two staying in the marriage and making it a satisfactory one IS still in the cards. HOWEVER: I notice that at least one of these transits on her side strongly hearkens back to work that was supposed to have been done and growth that was supposed to have been achieved earlier. (And I know right when that was, too … that time back in 2016 when somebody acted like they didn’t want to be someplace and sort of slept through it rather than applying herself.)


Without the scaffolding of that work having been done back then, I think it’s going to be a lot harder to paint that mural.


 

 

Either way, there’s the drumbeat: Something COULD have happened right now, in the latter part of 2022. Four months left in the year. If it had, it certainly would have set the stage for 2023-2025. There’s a good spate of contact transits coming up in the next ten days.


 

 

What usually happens when these come up: A flurry of activity from a certain person checking directly in here on a phone, without having to do a search to get here. This person, ostensibly from “Toronto” or “New Jersey” or, at one point, “Paris,” visits and visits, and then … nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada.


 

 

It's happening again right now. Only THIS time the person just scrolls the damn blog page and doesn’t read anything.


 

 

Good GRIEF.


 

 

The linchpin is, THIS IS ALL UP TO FREE WILL. I can’t speak to him because his last instructions to me were, “I intend to stay married,” so my hands are tied. To go by his behavior over the past seven years, here, her exercise in free will is to remain in rectal defilade. So, the person with the free will is … TA DA!!!


 

 

And, since this person is still heavily codependent and has discovered neither balls nor spine, I expect a flurry of visits here around August 17, and … that will be it.


Imagine longing to design your own life for some 64 years and when you finally get the chance, and the Universe is practically IMPLORING YOU … what do you do?


"Ehhhh … it’s SO much easier to let other people decide after all, even if I’m miserable with what they decide for me … AGAIN."


 

 

 

No decision IS a decision. It’s a final decision to let things stay the way they are forever, right?


 

 

(At least other people will be happy.)


 

 

If he doesn’t speak, that’s it. I don’t need to worry about hearing from this person in 2023. I don’t need to worry about seeing him in 2024. Those times will just pass us by, and we’ll be on another timeline and all hope this ever could have worked out will be

                  gone,

                             gone,

                                                gone.


 

 

People have mixed feelings about Dr. Phil, but he’s right about one thing: The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior. And we all know what that is.


 

 

What’s funny about this is: I have one transit that says I’m not likely to be happy whatever I get. And, you know?? I COMPLETELY understand that one.


 

 

I imagine this guy chickening out one last and final time, and I’m very sad about that. It’s the cutoff of all future potential. If he’d just SPOKEN, the POTENTIAL for a very good outcome was there.


 

 

BUT: I imagine this guy speaking, and I quail in terror. Because I know some very serious emotional problems are over there, together with yet another attitude that doesn’t want to apply itself. He himself knows, not much can be done with a relationship partner who has a nonworking attitude other than stew in problems and have a miserable relationship that gets worse and worse over time. I’m not willing to put up with that.


 

 

My life has been “stimulating” enough.


 

 

If he actually SPOKE, I’d speak to him, sure. But without divorce papers all properly signed and delivered where they are supposed to go, I simply can’t remain involved. That shit is radioactive. I can’t do one thing if I keep my hand in other than make things worse, and I won’t do it. Absolutely. Motherfucking. Not.


 

 

And what I need to see is a good, solid working attitude. I don’t mean jump when I say jump like good Fido. I mean hitting the journals, books and therapy to see how and why he got himself into this mess and how he plans to behave differently in the future. I mean seeing himself as something other than a worm.


 

 

Because I don’t find a lily-livered, fawning boot-licker attractive even one whit. I was attracted to him because I mistook him for someone like my late husband—someone who knew who he was and what he needed and would get behind himself and back himself up.


I may not have been thrilled with my husband’s attitude that no one was going to tell HIM what to do, and he was going to do laundry and take trash out and load the dishwasher and that was it—but that is WAYYYY better than someone who’s doing things he’s only half-conscious he doesn’t want to do and won’t think about it or say anything about it until ten years later when he’s complaining about me to someone else.


 

If I hear something like, “I need to have regular sex, because why be with someone you’re not having sex with? You might as well be roommates,” I know who that person is and I know what I’m dealing with. I know what I need to do to make that person happy. If a person such as my late husband said something like, “I could use some attention,” that spoke pretty loudly to me. I didn’t have to guess, I KNEW.


 

 

That shit’s fucking important. How am I supposed to run my half of the relationship if I don’t know? If the person’s a smiling Cheshire who doesn’t know why he’s “depressed” and all the while I’m on my knees on the damn FLOOR going, “PLEASE!! TELL ME THE TRUTH!!!” and he’s going, “Everything’s fine, honey …” what kind of shit is going to come down??


 

 

 

Look at THEIR marriage. THAT’S the shit that’s going to come down. And I don’t want shit part of that.


 

 

 

I’m going to know ten years later when he has a mental breakdown, or moves out all of a sudden, or I find suspicious texts from someone else ... that’s when I’m going to know he wasn't happy.


 

 

And I don’t fucking deserve that. How many times did I have to tell my late husband, “I’M NOT YOUR FIRST WIFE!”


 

And I sure as fuck ain’t this one, either.


 

 

Who the fuck gravitates toward someone because they’re “easy to talk to,” and then REFUSES TO TALK???


 

 

A hideous codependent who doesn’t want to do the goddamn work to get well, that’s who.


 

And something tells me if I hear from him now, that’s exactly what I would be getting.



Of course, the reason I believe this is I haven't heard anything from him in five years besides these surreptitious visits. I know he's thinking about me and that's all I know. All I really have to go on is the person who couldn't read anything about ACoA issues five years ago because it was "too depressing." (As if staying in that marriage wasn't.)



If things are somehow better and work has been done, well, that's good, solid, healthy thinking. And if it results in their getting back together or him divorcing and finding someone else instead of coming back to me, that's okay. We're old people now. We aren't the people we were when we met. We might meet again, go "Meh," and that's it.



All we were really supposed to do here is heal. We weren't really looking for each other; we were looking for OURSELVES.


 

Now, don’t get me wrong, THIS PERSON

            HAS THE CAPACITY

TO IMPROVE.


 

THIS PERSON HAS THE CAPACITY TO GO ALL THE WAY.


 

He’s smart enough. He is not, like my mother, so mentally ill that there’s just limited capability there and nothing to be done. Horoscope, tarot, and my intuition are all agreed: THIS GUY CAN DO IT.


 

 

He just needs to WANT to do it, he needs to find GOOD help, and he needs to motherfucking APPLY HIMSELF to emotional wellness as well as he does things like painting and old movies and … I don’t know, Raymond fucking Chandler.


 

 

If I don’t see good solid evidence of all of the above, I’m afraid I can’t bite.


 

 

And what evidence have I seen of that in the past seven years? Precious fucking little.


 

 

So, yeah, if I heard from him, it would be a nailbiting time. I would have to just adopt a wait-and-see attitude without expecting much.


 

Never put your happiness in the hands of others, ladies. Just keep living your own life and leave the morons to stew.


 

 

The sad thing is, we’re about to become seriously old people. The time for health problems, cognitive decline, and nursing homes draws nigh.


 

 

If we don’t do what we can while we can, and we don’t do it NOW, we’ll be drooling in our laps in the nursing home, sitting in our wheelchairs in front of the TV in our Depends. We’ll barely even know what day it is, and death will come and all our potential Will. Be. Gone.


 

 

Think about THAT.

https://medium.com/know-thyself-heal-thyself/this-conversation-with-an-experienced-therapist-changed-the-course-of-my-life-5223a0eb9ce6

 

Well ...

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on August 3, 2022 at 9:25 PM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAsX74-xjqQ

(There's nothing funnier than a hillbilly tarot reader.)

MY AFFAIR PARTNER DOES NOT OWE ME HAPPINESS

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on July 26, 2022 at 11:10 AM

If only it could have been, if only it could have been, if only it could have been …


Man. How many times have I thought that over the past seven years?


The problem with it is, it isn't true.


When we meet someone, anyone - whether they're married or not - we automatically start this mental picturing process about what things will be like when we're together and what kind of life we're going to have.


Sad to say, those imaginings are mostly about us and what we think we need to be happy. 


And what we think we need to be happy is mostly a sticky, prickly, tangled-up ball of thorns leftover from whatever we didn't get from parents and family in childhood.


When we meet that other person, it's all about our parents. Some therapists wax eloquent about research studies and dopamine, serotonin, evolution, whatever. But, you know? Something has to trigger that massive chemical release. 


And that's generally our thoughts. And those thoughts come from whatever our lives previous to that have taught us.


Things get even stickier when somebody's already married. Because the first thing that other woman or man does is extract a promise: Will you leave your spouse so we can be together?


I'm not too happy thinking back to the time I did that.


What was I thinking?


Well, I was thinking that this person was successful, and I didn't expect to be, so if I traded love for protection, I would have to worry much less about getting older.


I was thinking that I didn't have any family. I didn't have any friends and really didn't know how to make any, and this was the funniest, smartest, and most gregarious person on earth. How nice it would be to fit in, with this person to grease the way!


I was thinking that finally, at long last, all the shit I went through in childhood would be for something. Everything I had learned about growing up in a difficult home with difficult parents, I could use to make someone else happy, to show them they were loved, and that they weren't what their sick home growing up told them they were.


And of course the guy was handsome and sexy and adorable and lovable. Of course there was all that.


But this other stuff?

              That was all my job.


I'm supposed to make my own way financially and find my own friends and make my own life into something I'm happy with, not put it all on someone else and make it their job.


Here I was, unhappy with "that mean old wife" because it certainly looked as if she had done some of that, and now I'm going to treat this poor guy the same way myself?


Sometimes we call this love, but it isn't a very loving thing to do.


All I can do if I really love the person is hope he heals his own childhood wounds and finds peace, and whatever he believes is the right thing for his life after he does that, I hope he achieves. 


It's all about him, not me. If you love the other person, you want them to be happy, period. 


Love's not about what someone else is going to do for you that you don't want to or don't believe you can do for yourself.


It doesn't matter what "He promised!"

                      It doesn't matter what "He said!" 


All the heartbreak did was point me toward all the ways I was failing myself.

MESSAGE

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on July 24, 2022 at 7:30 PM

There isn't anything you've done that's unforgivable.

New Fave Quote

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on July 18, 2022 at 1:05 PM

“Love is inherently free. It cannot be bought, sold, or traded. You cannot make someone love you, nor can you prevent it — not for any amount of money. Love cannot be imprisoned, nor can it be legislated. Love is not a substance, not a commodity, not even a marketable power source. Love has no territory, no borders, no quantifiable mass or energy output,” said Dr. Deborah Anapol in her book The Seven Natural Laws of Love as shared in Psychology Today. “This doesn’t mean that love allows destructive and abusive behaviors to go unchecked. Love speaks out for justice and protests when harm is being done. Love points out the consequences of hurting oneself or others. Love allows room for anger, grief, or pain to be expressed and released. But love does not threaten to withhold itself if it doesn’t get what it wants. Love does not say, directly or indirectly, ‘If you are a bad boy, Mommy won’t love you anymore.’ Love does not say, ‘If you want to be loved, you must be nice,’ or ‘Do what I want,’ or ‘Never love anyone else,’ or ‘Promise you’ll never leave me.’”

MY NEW LIFE, book 3

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on July 17, 2022 at 8:10 PM

This idea of twin flames being soul mirrors of one another definitely has something to it.


 

The weather finally cleared up enough today that I could do thirty laps in the pool, and while I’m swimming around I’m thinking about an online reading I listened to, about how twin flames can’t get together again unless both of them mature. So I’m swimming around reflecting on how Society Says that everyone else in the family has to feel okay with your relationship choices or else you are doing something wrong/You Are Bad because your choices are making THEM unhappy … even though they don’t even see or CARE how the choice to stay in a miserable relationship makes YOU unhappy. Even when the other person has some serious deficits in the way they are treating you and shows no desire or even understanding of the need to change.


No, no, no. Society says, “Your job in relationship is to make sure these other people are happy with the way it is, and you must do that or you are a bad person.” And you get that reflected back to you all the time, so that is what you think. While maturity might entail being able to take a step back from what you see reflected back to you courtesy of ignorant (but well-meaning) people all the time.


 

And then I think: Well, aren’t I doing the same thing?


Seriously. What am I thinking?


 

Well, I’m thinking that I can’t possibly ever be a good writer, especially in the areas of fiction and screenwriting, because all I have ever had reflected back to me are “Not Good Enough” messages. And I get all depressed and want to quit because, if that’s all anyone can say, then it must be the truth, right??


 

When I look at this guy’s situation and I KNOW it isn’t the truth, because I see what I see and I’ve read what I’ve read and I know what I know.


But look at it from his point of view. That’s all anyone ever says, and that’s all he ever sees reflected back to him, so it must be true, right??


 

When the whole point is: YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SEE FOR YOURSELF THAT IT ISN’T TRUE, AND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SEE WHY IT ISN’T TRUE. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO GET THERE, YOURSELF.


 

So, for instance, he’s never going to hear, for example, his daughter, saying anything like, “I know you must feel lonely in your relationship with Mom. I know she isn’t ever going to get any of this, but you have legitimate reason to feel miserable and I don’t want this kind of relationship to be the only one you ever know in this life, and I’m sorry if it has to happen but I don’t want you to be unhappy forever.”


 

(I mean, I got there with my father, but he was already passed away, and there are enough children-of-cheaters still bleating away on Medium that I understand most children-of-cheaters never ever get there. It involves seeing your parent as a separate person, and most people never get there no matter how fucking old they are.)


 

If she could get her mind around that, it would be easy. So. Much. Easier. And fuck knows, personal fucking growth and finding a sense of personal fucking self-worth can’t possibly be made any fucking easier, not when your North Node says it’s a major life lesson you incarnated into and you are meant to fucking struggle with it.


 

So, of COURSE she’s never going to get her little mind around that. Even though she’s supremely talented and she’s … I’ll just leave the Lifetime Achievement Roundup out of this, thank you.


And what am I dealing with??? Lack of validation from the outside world. In which case it sure is easy to assume you aren’t ANY fucking good, because that is all the feedback you receive.


 

All I get is “Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough, not good enough, not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.”


 

So what am I going to think??? “I’m not good enough.”


 

Seriously. I felt SO FUCKING HORRIBLE ABOUT THIS this past week, I was so depressed, I couldn’t do anything. I felt so unfuckingmotivated to do any fucking thing.


 

But, just as a certain person is supposed to find/read/ therapize/reason his way to seeing that seeing your own needs in a relationship and in what you want for your life and sticking up for that even if it disappoints people that what they thought your relationship was … ISN’T what it actually IS, doesn’t make you a bad person just because everybody’s saying so …


 

I’m probably supposed to be getting a clue that thinking what I come up with creatively is okay and has merit even though all I will ever get is “not good enough” messages from the world.


There are a million reasons people who write perfectly good stories will never find success as writers other than they aren’t any good. I can see that, but it’s just as hard for me to apply that to myself as it is for you-know-who to apply that other knowledge to himself.


 

We’re both struggling to think we’re good enough, in different areas, against an ocean of No’s from this world.


 

And, until we “get” it, we’re probably still going to get that very same ocean of No.


We’re both beseechingly dependent on external approval when we’re not supposed to be.


Oy.


It’s really awful to live that way.


Here I’ve been thinking for weeks and weeks, Okay, so I’m quitting writing. What precisely was I supposed to do now???


 

Thank goodness for this YourTango article I wrote. It’s been sitting in their queue for something like three weeks: https://www.yourtango.com/heartbreak/gottman-cause-of-affairs


When that happens, I sort of think, Well, it’s not that great, they certainly aren’t rushing to put THAT up. But look at what they did to it!


 

That wasn’t my original title. I didn’t think my title was that bad, but they came up with a great one. And they even hunted around and found a Gottman video to go with it! (The rest is me, minus some alteration of case for the headings.)


I challenge anyone with a mental health degree to write anything better than that one.


 

I really needed that this week. It really helped me feel better.


 

And, you know what? That has to stop.


If I keep thinking like this, I will never be able to do anything but sit on the couch in a stupor, ever again.


And who knows, if I just master the goddamned lesson, maybe this universe will fucking LET UP a little.


Because, let’s face it, I DO need worldly success. I DO need debt retired, and I DO need retirement money (or at least a retirement career, which my husband was trying for and didn’t live long enough).


I DO need to fix up this damn place. I DO need to remodel. I’m tired of living in a DUMP.


 

And I ain’t never going to do any of that working, that’s for damn sure.

 

MY NEW LIFE, book 2

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on July 10, 2022 at 11:55 AM

I can’t even express how painful the past two years have been ... understanding that all thirty years prior to that were nothing but narcissism and grandiosity.


The only good thing I can notice about that is that the years I believed in that dream were mostly so motherfucking miserable that at least that dream gave me hope. Without that hope, I don’t know how I would have survived. 

 

At least now I’m finally doing well at work. In terms of my career, I am finally where I should have been twenty years ago … which, in terms of today’s prices means I will be okay, as long as I can still work.


Before, I felt so inept in my career I expected to be fired and unhireable any day, stuck working for minimum wage somewhere with $50,000 in student loans and more than that in hospital bills. At least that won’t happen as long as I can still work. Fears of being homeless were plentiful and real. But now I know that I won’t be homeless in the near future as far as I can tell. (I've been fat for many years so I could always have a heart attack tomorrow. You never know.)

 

So, now I don’t need that wonderful dream anymore. No writing miracle is ever going to break me out of a poverty-stricken old age. I live among a lot of people of color, poor lower-income renters, and my future looks a lot like theirs. 

 

My dream of my future NOT looking like that is over. 

 

I think it goes without saying that my long-ago dream of being thin and fit and having a body that looks like the culturally prescribed body women are “supposed” to have, or of ever feeling like I did in my twenties and thirties or even my early forties ever again, is over with, too. 

 

I used to dream I’d have people to spend my life with. My husband, who’s been gone nearly nine years, and some small handful of friends. I’m proud to say I’ve toughened up to the point I don’t really miss that anymore.


I’ve changed so much I don’t think many other people would understand me now, and I’ve learned to enjoy my solitude. If I die one night of a heart attack and no one’s around to call 911 … so, what? It’s better than a long, slow, miserable, unaffordable death from cancer or Alzheimer’s, that’s for sure. 

 

I used to dream that one day I’d have a new person to walk through life with … the person this website is about. I used to go to the pool and imagine he’d be there one day with me, or that instead of attending gatherings at my coworker’s home alone, he would be there and we would be two couples, like normal people. How nice that would have been! Her boyfriend wants to get into computer science. They could have talked about that, and we could have talked about work, like normal couples getting together to share a meal ... the sort of life other people have always had and I never had.


Once upon a time, we took one walk together. Just one short walk, and talked. He cut it short, because it upset him so much to be doing that he got an upset stomach. But that was the thing he wanted more than sex, he said. Just to have someone to take long walks with and talk. (Of course that makes sense. The guy was lonely!!) I used to think one day we'd do that. 

 

No more. I don’t dream any of those things any more. 

 

I don’t dream about anyone else either. As I said, it would take quite an understanding gentleman to look past these legs, this stomach, this rear, and these saggy old breasts, and I’m given to understand the dating market is shallow as ever and still into looks. People in their late 40's, 50's, and 60's still want to feel like they're twenty-five and have a sex life like that again. Well, fat chance. There's only one J. Lo. And I imagine even she is in menopause. 

 

In any case, why would I want to put myself through that? I have NO desire to sit in restaurants risking covid, struggling to make small talk with strangers I really didn’t want to meet, kissing frogs for no reason. I had the best relationship I could ever have and was ever going to have with my late husband, anyway.


We were the same sort of person then ... obsessed with writing, thinking we were supremely talented (at least he was), working like dogs, supporting each other, cheering each other on toward dreams that would never come true. 

 

I'm not that girl anymore. I can't even imagine the person I would want to be with now. It used to be this guy ... but this guy will marinate in a miserable marriage for the rest of his life (as far as I know). He will never wake up, never grow up, never be a person who doesn't think something is wrong with him, who doesn't grovel and grovel in every close relationship he has because he needs their approval.


Because he doesn't have even so much as a sand grain of his own. Kind of like my mom.


I can't imagine anyone else like that person. The healthy parts, I mean. The sly and wicked sense of humor. The brilliant mind. The fascinating conversation. The sparkling interest in so many things. The well-rounded knowledge and competence (in everything but his emotional state and his personal life, that is), and just the general fun of talking to him. He was so talented and creative.


Even that is fading, though. After enough years of no contact with someone, it isn't true that only the good memories always remain. In this case, the good stuff is getting harder and harder to recall, but the bad stuff is still front and center.


Because I've lived the consequences of it for seven years now. And there's no way to see any evidence if anything's changed, so oh, well. And anyway, all that was just the stuff he escaped into so he didn't have to face and deal with his marriage, his ACoA problems, his codependency, and his low self-worth.


No wonder he was so good at all those things. I used to listen to him and feel inferior. Now I think he got the short end of the stick. No--HE GAVE HIMSELF the short end of the stick. Anybody that smart is smart enough to apply himself to his problems and get the fuck well. He just didn't want to deal with the pain.


Kind of like my mom. 

 

Besides, I'm old, I'm fat, I have no sex drive anymore, and I don't need a parter. The whole business of this last seven murderous, miserable years was to grow me up out of codependency to the point I'd be fine by myself. And I got there. 

 

Now, I'm fine by myself. 

 

At any rate, at this age, it wouldn't be very long before I'd be going through the whole caregiving-the-final-illness thing again. Thank God I was in my early forties for that. I don't have the energy to do it again. All the old-people-need-caregiving is out of my life now--finally!--and it would have to be a very, very special person before I'd volunteer for that again.


There will be no one to do it for me.


Boy, does it feel weird to be alive now.


I look back at all those years gone by, and they were so stressful. There I am, galloping furiously through life, workingandworkingandworking and rushingandrushingandrushing, panting and gasping and struggling for the time left over to just sit and concentrate on writing whatever I thought at the time my magnum opus would be. My husband defended his time fiercely. We used to fight over it.


Although, if you are developing a brain tumor and you're going to get diagnosed shortly and be gone in two years, I guess time really is of the essence.


Now, I don't have to worry about it. I have no talent. This world is never going to want anything I have, so I can just stop now. 


And the even-funnier thing is, I have no ideas anymore, and feel even less enthusiasm. Well ... I did read an article about Room 8, the cat, and have the thought that this would make a GREAT family-oriented movie, and how it was shocking no one had done a movie about this yet. Since a screenplay is only about 90-120 pages it would be a short project. I could dig up my old screenwriting notes and do that.


Except I have NO ideas, and NO enthusiasm.


It isn't fun anymore. It just seems like a big waste of time.


I'm much happier these days writing short articles here and on Medium and YourTango. YourTango does a "Top 20" email once a month, and I've been in there every month since they started doing it. So, that's something, I guess. I don't get paid for it, of course.


But, it's definitely less of a time-and-energy sink than thinking you're going to be a full-time novelist one day. I just don't miss the constant anger that Life wouldn't give me the time to work on a novel and being angry at everything else I had to do that kept me away from it.


That kind of enthusiasm only lasts for as long as you can believe the sun rises out of your ass, and there's only one J. K. Rowling, only one Stephanie Meyer, only one E. L. James, only one Patricia Cornwell that's true for. And none of them are me!


I think what I'm doing now is actually much more constructive. Instead of blowing my ego up on so much hot air, I'm just being a regular person. An average little old fat lady.


I never realized how nice it feels to just come home, lie down on the couch, and put a movie on. Well--correction--I did, I just always felt like I didn't have the time because that was the Only Time I had to work on my Magnum Opus. (Unless me and my husband were watching a movie together that touched on topics we were covering in our novels and we could have a long and interesting conversation about it. And laugh our asses off about stuff while we were doing it. And then screw. ;))


I mean, think about it. I've spent a lot of time now in nursing homes. And the people who had enough marbles there, my relatives in particular, missed the good old days where they could go under their own power out to eat, shop, etc. and when their schedules were their own and they didn't have to go depending on when someone else could get off work and had the time.


Well, covid ended going out anywhere, I don't have the desire or the energy to anymore, and I don't want to live that way when I'm old anyhow.


I want to just be able to peacefully accept my circumstances, instead of being bitter that I got old and now I can't do anything but sit there in a wheelchair and watch TV. If all I'm doing is sitting there watching TV now in my old battered condo, and in a decade or two I will be sitting there watching TV in my old battered local nursing home ... I haven't lost anything but geography. There will be no more big changes or sad losses in my life.


I'm already widowed and single, I've already lost everyone, I'm already adapted to being old. I Have Nothing Left To Lose, and I have the time to goof off that I wanted to have as a kid and was always so angry that Homework and Cleaning Half The House for a stay-at-home mother who didn't want to do anything and yet called ME lazy never allowed me to have.


Now, I'm closing in on 55 and I have it, finally!! (Except I can never retire.) And life gets harder and harder the older I get, so why push myself harder and harder? I can never get those goals anyway.


These days my tarot readings talk about Some Big Thing I was supposed to do, now that I'm UNcodependent and free of romantic hassles.


If there is one, someone is going to have to explain it to me. After fifty-four years of saying NO to everything I ever wanted to be, do, and have, the Universe is going to have to stop scolding me for finally ACCEPTING its NO.


I really don't think it's fair for the Universe to put unclimbable walls in front of one all of one's life, and then imply there's something wrong with one when one finally accepts those walls and gets comfortable inside them.


Wasn't this all supposed to be just an exercise in finding humility and giving up narcissism and grandiosity?? In accepting ordinariness and seeing myself as okay even though I will never be thin, beauty is over, sex is over, and I will never publish a bestseller??


'Cause if it wasn't, you sure could have fooled me.


Universe ... SHUT UP.


And fuck you. If I was supposed to have some remaining enthusiasm for achievement at this age ... a little help, a little earlier would have facilitated that quite a bit.


I have an opportunity in October to start NCGR classes and study for my Astrologer Level One. If I can afford the $800 at that point, that is. I did have an idea for a book I could write if I can at least get some certification.


Is it worth the trouble? Fuck knows. These days I am happy to swim in the pool and sit on the couch, and doing things like that seems like an awful lot of work and trouble for nothing. Although, I did visit a tarot reader a couple of weeks ago who saw that bearing some kind of fruit.


I've worked and worked and worked and worked and rushed and rushed and rushed and rushed my whole damned life, and most of it was for nothing. And I have to say that I HATED ALL OF IT.


I'm still by myself, still fat, still in debt, still going to be poor, and still going to be the same little old fat woman in the same dumpy nursing home I would be even if I did some stellar thing. Only now--I'm okay with that.


If what I do from now on can't be enjoyable, than FUCK IT.


Just sitting in my leisure time and happily goofing off sounds a-okay to me.


Postscript: 7/5/22 at 1 am, supposedly from Detroit, Client Id 110041649.1656997259 comes directly in on a cell phone to the blog and then skips several entries to read, Why Did It Take Seven Years for Me to Give Up on My Affair Partner? THE PERFECT ONE, at this point in time. In the past, when this person disappears, he has shown up again approximately two months later. So, he's on time, and I have never known any other visitor but my therapist to come directly to the blog. 

*SIGH* Dude.

All thought and no action is nothing but that ... all thought and no action. How unhappy ARE you, anyway? Wait--don't answer that. Without W-O-R-K, it really doesn't matter.                                  .

               ,

 

MY NEW LIFE

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on July 2, 2022 at 8:20 PM

TWO MONTHS LATER


I last saw my ex-affair partner on here on April 26th. As I told, after I posted “Let’s Just Kiss and Say Goodbye,” he came on in a flurry for a couple of nights, reading that and another one or two of my last two postings back and forth a few times—trying to figure me out, I think—and then stayed up all night April 18-19th, reading posts in order, and then came back and read my first few posts on this blog. He came back one time on the 26th, and that was it.

 

I think it’s for the best. I’m sad it’s all over with and there will never be any more … but there was never going to be any more anyway, and why drag it out? What’s the point of checking to see if he’s stopped by here for, oh, the rest of my life?? He was never going to speak, and one day I just wouldn’t see him here ever again, and I’d be anxiously scanning here for months on end before I finally decided he was gone, and then I’d be miserable.

 

And for what? He was never going to speak to me again anyway. And if you’re never going to speak or see a person ever, ever again … good grief. Just cut them off. This way, it’s over NOW, I KNOW it’s over NOW, and that’s it.

 

It's occurred to me that my life is completely different now than it ever was. Only two things have survived: I have the same job, and I live in the same place. Other than those two things, nothing from my life when my husband was alive and I knew both those men, exists anymore.

 

Back then I was keen to become a well-known writer, sure that someday, people would know my name and I would quit the day job. I would pay off my debts, have retirement savings, finally and at VERY long last remodel.

 

Oh, wait … there’s the third thing that’s survived the past, miserable, seven years. My debt. I had rejoiced in the fact that, after living here twenty years this November, I owe less than $20,000 on this old, old condo. I bought some new furniture, had some expensive car repairs done, some jewelry repairs, some plumbing repairs, lent—oops, GAVE—my brother $500, and told myself when all that was paid off—something I had planned to do by the end of the summer—I would devote every last penny to the mortgage and own this place outright within nine months. Then I could do the same with my hospital bills, also twenty years old, and then start on the rest of the student loan.

 

Unfortunately, I came home twice to find water standing in the laundry room. It’s ruining the floor … such as it is. I thought it was the washing machine leaking. Heh … heh … heh.

 

Turns out that all the problems I had two years ago with the sink backing up have culminated in a broken pipe under the CONCRETE floor. Oh, and because the upstairs neighbors WILL NOT QUIT putting food and grease down the drain, a horrid-smelling collection of ROTTING FOOD has washed up underneath my bathroom tub. It is full of maggots and most likely the tub will need to be broken up and removed so that this mess can be removed. A huge hole had to be broken into the wall so that this could be discovered and that will need drywall work. The concrete floor in the laundry room will have to be cut into in order to fix the broken pipes. I have NO idea whether or not I have insurance that will cover this.

 

Of course, I shouldn’t NEED insurance that will cover this, because I am pretty damn sure the break is on the side of the piping it’s the condo association’s responsibility to cover. However, I’m assured by my neighbor they will do everything possible NOT to cover it, and I should expect a big fight. The plumber will need to run a camera down in order to ascertain exactly where the break is, and that’s $500. I have had to delay this work for two weeks, partially because I wanted to pay my credit card down some first and partially because I have been in charge at work the past two weeks because a coworker was on vacation, which meant I had no weekdays off to be home to let the plumbers in. (I’m definitely not letting THIS be done when I’m not home.) Meanwhile, I’m struggling through an infestation of drain flies AND cockroaches courtesy of all this.

 

So, yeah. The debt survives. I’m fifty-four, living in a broken-down dump highly reminiscent of Section Eight public housing, and I have nothing saved for the future. Still.

 

What’s gone:

 

Youth, of course. Sad to say, I can tell I am getting older. I’m fatter than ever. Look up “lipedema” online. My legs are starting to look like that. Not that I ever want to date again, but even if I did, it would have to be a MOST understanding gentleman to look past legs like these. I don’t have the energy or the stamina I used to have. I’m trying to keep up with things like I used to, but frankly, I’m working full time again, it’s stressful, and I’m fed up with it all. I’m never going to have the kind of nice home I lived in as a kid. I don’t mean a palace; I mean the kind of home where the floors and walls were finished and looked whole and decent, a home that doesn’t have BUGS, a home where I don’t walk in and smell the fetid stench of rotting food the instant I open the door.

 

I’m not sure what my quality of life is going to be like the rest of the time that I live here, but I suspect: not so great. Once I’m too old and sick to work or to care for myself, it’s going to be either a state nursing home on Medicaid, if the RethugliKKKans we are about to vote permanent power in this country don’t repeal Medicaid, Social Security, and all other forms of government assistance, and a cardboard box on the street if they do. So, that won’t be much quality of life, either.

 

I’ve given up on writing. It’s true that for the very, very fortunate and the very, very talented, something like one screenplay can mean at least a million dollars, which would have paid all the debt and all the remodeling and provide a sizable nest egg; but I don’t have the ideas for something like that and even if I did, I don’t have the luck. I’m fifty-four years old and something like this should have happened twelve years ago at the very latest.


Instead, my last writer’s group told me unequivocally that my last novel SUCKED, and I’ve had to face the fact that I just never had that kind of talent to begin with. The whole dream was a child’s dream about how to get people to like me and love me. Which is stupid, because people who like you or love you only for your success, don’t really like you or love you at all.

 

I might as well have never dreamed such a dream in the first place.


more to follow ...
*These stupid links never work. Obviously, it's the next blog ...

What If I Had Never Met You?

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on May 30, 2022 at 2:35 AM

A rhetorical question, since the person in question has not visited in more than a month. I'm pretty sure he read "Let's Just Kiss And Say Goodbye," read every blog he had ever wanted to read, and, as requested, left here forever.



I'm not going to complain. I was just in this constant cycle of checking here, seeing he had been here, being thrilled he was still here ... and checking here, seeing he had been here, and being thrilled he was still here. For ten minutes, half an hour ... and then what? Nothing else, just that. What is that, really? Nothing. Just a slender, gossamer filament of hope for something that was never going to happen, and longing for something that would never be. Which I would keep doing for however many years he kept coming ... until one day he dropped off the radar, and I would just be miserably sad. Crushed that now it really was all over, I had no idea what had happened, and NOW I had to accept for real that nothing would ever happen other than that.



It's no way to live. Might as well just go ahead and cut the cord now. There was just nothing more to be gained from hanging onto this teeny, tiny thread of us in each other's lives. 


WE'RE NOT IN EACH OTHER'S LIVES, AND WE NEVER WILL BE EVER AGAIN. MIGHT AS WELL JUST ACCEPT THAT.


So, I did. Having done that, What if I had never met him?


(this is a work in progress. it's almost 3 am.)


Don't Ever Watch "Cast Away" If You're In This Situation.

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on May 24, 2022 at 2:00 PM

So, at the very end of Cast Away starring Tom Hanks and Helen Hunt (and good grief, Mr. Big), Chuck Noland, the Tom Hanks character, newly lean from four years struggling to survive on a desert island, does this completely foolhardy thing, striking out to sea on a homemade raft, and is miraculously found and flown back to civilization.

The entire time he's longed for his fiance, Kelly. When he finally gets home, Kelly has given him up for dead. She's married to Mr. Big and has a child who looks to be maybe three years old.


Kelly tells him that deep down, she knew he was still alive, but too many people told her she had to give up hope. Now she's with someone else and she's going to stay, but she still loves Chuck and tells him he was the love of her life. She almost runs away with him, but then goes back to her husband and daughter.


This situation is even more implausible than that. It stands to reason that if a plane went down in the south Pacific, a person could actually survive four years, even if it's most improbable.


In this situation, I'm informed that a person who never follows their own instinct or their own heart, only the prevailing beliefs of other people, is wrestling with his instinct to reach out to me. What I'm given to understand is that he's either going to finally go with his instinct, and I'll hear from him, or he's going to get scared again and run off once more, and I won't.


If I never hear from him again, I'll never know if this was true or not. If I do, I'll know that it is and it always was.


All I know for sure is, if it IS true, then all this really was arranged so I could heal, and this person could heal, and part of his healing is to follow one's true heart and not what people around him say and say and say ... many times with limited caring or empathy, and no true understanding. If I hear from him, I will know that.


If I don't, I never will.


The other part of that is that when I believe this is true, I am happy. I know that if I do hear from him, an ancient plan will fulfill itself, and if I do not, I know why, and I am released from a soul contract that this person just wasn't able to fulfill his end of in this lifetime. When I believe it's nonsense, I believe all kinds of terrible things about myself, the world, and him, and I feel miserable and hopeless.


The happier you feel, the more energy you find to do what you have to do, regardless. And, if he never comes back, I do have a lot to do. I need to take care of myself, find some more energy to live on somehow, and find something to live for that's only about me. That's because it's easier for me to be single for the rest of my life than it would have been for someone the age of the Kelly Frears character.


I'm old, I'm fat, I'm tired. I'm nearer to the end of my life than the beginning. I had my happy marriage. The way I look, feel, and am, there's little chance of me finding anything else as good as that, and the way I look, feel, and am, I don't really need it anymore anyhow. Whether this guy comes back or not, I still have a job: Find all I need in me, not him.


If you don't get the guy, you have no other choice, and if you DO get the guy, and you refuse to do this work, what you get is an enmeshed codependent relationship that is an absolute DISASTER. So, I have the same job either way, and either way I have to find the happiness and the energy to do it.


I would never believe all this, and would chalk it all up to absolute malarkey, except that I can read astrology. And what's passing over the charts this weekend sums this up with poignancy if not absolute clarity.


I tried to calculate the odds, and with these transits, one cannot. Free will, again. I will say, they look mostly bleak for me, and mostly great for Rory. So, while it would be a wonderful miracle if this person were indeed wrestling, and did indeed find the nerve, I should remember that utter miracles are thin on the ground in my life and always have been, and I need to prepare myself for the strong likelihood that I never see or hear from this person ever, ever again.


It's just how I explain that to myself that helps or hinders my ability to go on with my life, so I'd like to go with the explanation that makes me feel as good as possible.


I just wish I didn't have to take that completely on faith.


Either way, this stretch of time is fateful. One way or the other, I'm going to be by myself a while longer. One way, about two years more; the other way, probably forever.


Not that I'm upset about that. I can't imagine any other person popping up who would be right for me, and I'm independent enough that I don't want to go out looking. The stories I hear about THAT process are something terrible, anyway. Most men want to see naked pictures first. It's all about what your stomach looks like, what your boobs look like, what your butt looks like, what your legs look like.


Well, at this age my body is hideously ugly, and I'm not interested in subjecting myself to that. Life is more than a sex sweepstakes, and someday everyone is going to be old enough that they will have to acknowledge this as truth.


I'm already there. So, when I ask myself, If I didn't wait, and then he showed up (as in this highly improbable film), how would I feel? Not a problem, as I'm at that stage in my life where it's time to be alone anyway.


It's just HOW I'm alone that makes the difference. I really don't want to do it the same way as the past seven years. Those were distinctly terrible, and I really don't need to repeat that.


It wouldn't help anybody anyway.


If I were the Tom Hanks character, stuck out on that island, I don't know that I would have made that raft and set out across the ocean on the ricketiest of pallets. That island was absolutely beautiful, and a lovely place to die. Just me and nature, and beauty.


Why go back to that rat race? Why go back to being OWNED by debt collectors, where your entire life is nothing but this endless, endless panting and struggling and GASPING for money ... which you then must turn over to someone else, who wouldn't let you have even your very LIFE without incurring all this debt to them, forever, for the rest of your life, and end up with nothing anyway? In this ugly, noisy, hateful, greedy country full of stupid, stupid people???


Why, when I'd have the healthiest diet, fresh air and water, exercise, time, and the most lovely sights in the universe. Just look at all those stars at night! And I love the beach. 


I was all alone anyway.


It's HOW you're alone that matters. If I spend the rest of my days in self-doubt over the last seven-and-a-half years--the last twenty-three, really, because that's really when all this started--I will spend those days miserable. And I've already spent the last seven years miserable.


Misery teaches lessons--at least, it's supposed to--but I think I've learned enough. I really don't want to stay in misery, beating myself up with other people's aphorisms that really aren't so generally true. Ones like, I went after someone else's husband, so I am a terrible person, Astrology and tarot aren't really real, so I just made all this up to justify terrible sin, The spouse is ALWAYS who one should stay with, Family members should NEVER be upset, and Who did I think I was, anyway??   


One has to be able to live. If he never comes back, I hope he reconciles himself to his life so that he can live happily. At nearly 64, how many good years do you have left, after all? My late husband had less than two.


And if he never comes back, I would do well to reconcile myself to mine, which I can do best by telling other people's aphorisms that really aren't so generally true, to shut up.


One way, I can find some optimism and energy to keep on living, and the other way ... not so much.


Antidepressants aren't going to help with any of that, and could very well tip me bipolar. No, thanks.


After all, who am I to tell someone else to follow his instincts and heart, if I am not willing to do the same?


All the same, the proof would have made me feel so much better. I didn't do this to hurt anyone, I really didn't. Although, at times, I did feel like giving someone north of here a mighty kick in the ass. And I'm not talking about him.


Namaste.

*I have a whole compilation of the relevant astrology of this important two weeks or so, but it's way too long to post here.      

The Person I Had the Affair with Was Really My Mother

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on May 23, 2022 at 12:50 AM

Everyone experiencing a romantic relationship that isn’t going well: Quick! Pull out a sheet of paper and jot down all the ways your beloved and your most troublesome and hurtful parent are similar.


 

Something tells me the list will be long.


 

In my case: My entire childhood foundered under the weight of my mother’s unhappiness like a rowboat tethered to the anchor of an ocean liner.


 

Everything was someone else’s fault. My father didn’t spend any time with my mother. He was always gone at work. He didn’t let her drive, he didn’t let her have any money. Children should not hear complaints like this from their one stay-at-home parent, but we were mother’s confidantes and we got earfuls in a steady stream, day after day after day.


 

(In reality, both my father and my great aunt offered to teach my mother to drive. She always said no. I didn’t discover this until my great aunt was eighty-six years old and I assumed responsibility for her care. But I believed it, because I was witness to the same when my stepfather offered to teach my mother to drive the pickup when I was sixteen.)


 

Crestfallen, my mother would sometimes wonder what she could have been and done if only. But I was also there when she put herself down, sure she was too stupid to hold down a job, and also when she was lazy, saying things like, “I’ve had a terrible life! I was molested by my own father and then stuck in these crappy marriages, and I shouldn’t have to work!”


 

We children ate the pain as we witnessed the dysfunction.


 

With my mother, it was crippling self-doubt. With my affair partner, it was codependency.


 

Other people, other people, other people, other people.


 

Yes, it’s true that other people look down on a person for getting a divorce. And that the longer you’ve been married, the more they look down.


 

It’s bad enough to leave a wife with teenaged children. It’s even worse when she’s in her late sixties and you’ve been married forty years. Oh, oh, what people will say! Oh, oh, what people will think!


 

The same judgmental people aren’t privy to the inner workings of that marriage for the past forty years. Even if none of a person’s needs for companionship, emotional closeness, and sex have been met for decades, even if a person moved out for a bit, even if marriage counseling has been tried, all some people can see is that an old person has been left divorced and alone in his or her declining years.


 

It really doesn’t matter to them what the spouse goes through, as long as he or she stays married and goes through it. We don’t want to hear about how lonely they are.


 

From my ex-affair partner’s behavior over the past seven years, this surely must have been the case. Why else would a person faithfully log on to my blog to see if I had posted anything every few days for that long? Even on Christmas?


 

When a marriage gets better, the other woman becomes persona non grata and is avoided like the plague. Public Enemy Number One. You would never catch a happily married former adulterer poring over his ex-affair partner’s blog in this way.


 

I posted messages several times offering to talk if he wanted. I once thanked him for being there reading, because after yet another snub from my estranged brother, I realized I was so completely alone and without family I couldn’t even really put him on my “Contact in Case of Emergency” forms or even count on him if I died. It was nice, I wrote, to know someone still cared if I was alive or not, even if we never spoke again.


 

I never got any kind of answer. And really, it got ridiculous. If you’re going to choose to stay where you are, choose to be there fully. What’s the point of hanging over an ex-affair partner’s blog all the time when you’re choosing to stay in your marriage? He was never going to see or speak to me again, and one day he’d just disappear. I’d never know if he died or got Alzheimer’s, or what.


 

Finally, I posted something to that effect that I called, “Let’s Just Kiss and Say Goodbye.”


 

What I saw after that was unreal. I didn’t see the old client number on Google Analytics anymore, but a new one logged in and went from the thank you post to the goodbye post, back and forth, back and forth. I could see him trying to follow my thought process.


 

The night after that, the same client number logged in at ten at night and read over the thank you blog. Then, at one thirty in the morning, a person logged in under the new number and stayed up all night long, reading and rereading posts I had made. He didn’t log off until almost five a.m.


 

Who does that unless they’re still unhappy in their marriage and very upset? Where was that person while he scrolled on his phone all night? Something tells me, it was alone in the in-law suite. Still.


The next day, they logged back in and read a pile more.


 

I saw him one more time six days later; now he’s gone, I suspect for good. If he's going to stay, and never, ever speak, and just fall off the edge of the earth one day, it's for the best. Let's just kill this now instead of letting it go on and on and on.


 

This person is paralyzed in unhappiness, just like my mother. And I held on and hoped he would change … just like I did with my mother.


 

I hung on and hoped with my mother for thirty-eight years. At least this was only seven.


 

I’m gotten my give-up-and-cut-them-off time down to under a decade, finally.


 

Sick people are a terrible, terrible waste of time. They don’t have the gumption to get better; they don’t have the gumption to move on. My mother complained and complained her whole life; and that was essentially what my affair partner did, too.


 

All I am is a great big sucker for people in desperate, terrible pain who will never, ever do one damn thing to get better and change their lives. And I really need to find something else in life and stop it.


 

Some people are never, never ever, never going to get better.


 

The question is whether I, too, am one of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Astrology of the Next Week

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on May 22, 2022 at 10:15 PM

After having this guy show up and read SO MANY BLOGS several weeks ago, and receiving so many card reading suggesting the person would show back up and want to talk, I went and looked at transits to our Davison for the weekend coming up ... because I know of something going on that weekend that would make it an opportune time.


I saw SO many good transits to our Davison that I went back and looked at significant transits to each chart active on that weekend.


I'm pretty sure after what I've found that I'm never going to see or hear from this person again, and he won't be back here on this blog, either. My ONE card reader who says this guy is gone for good is the correct one.

Every single significant transit to my chart at this time is talking about being left alone, a relationship breaking up, and having to restart my life on a completely different basis. (So, really, I don't know why our Davison looks so rosy. I guess because the relationship is over and all the personal growth that was supposed to be reaped from it has been gleaned? Maybe it's just crowing Mission Accomplished!! This relationship's job is ALL DONE!!)


Meanwhile, they have a number of hits, both positive and negative, on his DC/her MC, which is to say, their relationship. It's a time of significant growth for them. No idea how it will turn out, but it definitely does not involve me. I would say with this person's history, I've seen the last of him.


It wasn't what I wanted, but I don't get to make the decision here, and I never did. I did the right thing and stayed out of it.


I really don't know what to think of the guy's hanging around here on my every word for seven years. That's got to be some kind of record. Who has an emotional affair for four months, almost moves out, gets scared back into the fold because everybody else is angry ... and then faithfully reads their ex-affair partner's blog for SEVEN YEARS???

Someone very unhappy at home, that's who. I always assumed someone that unhappy would eventually leave, and that's why I hoped as long as I did, and was glad he was still here, but clearly that is never going to happen now.


In a way, the fact that he was here that long was good, because if I had stepped in on a marriage that had some potential for happiness and should have been saved, and they'd gotten back together in marriage counseling and were happy ever after and he hated me, it would have killed me. I did NOT want to be the kind of person who would do that.


I approached him because it sounded very suspiciously like this wife was never going to change, and as long as he stayed there it would be a sad and stagnant failure. Having him here that long made it nice to be proven right; but the bad part was that having him here that long gave me hope that he'd finally grow a pair, heal, and leave ... and that is never to be.


And I hung on and hoped way, way, way, way too long.


Oh, well. It would have happened anyway. I couldn't conceive of being with anybody else but him--still can't--and I would have hung on this long anyway. I've just been far, far too badly damaged in childhood and I probably won't ever be really emotionally healthy. At least with him hanging about here I knew he missed me, too.


But, it's time for this to end. He's never going to leave her. We're never going to see each other again. Knowing he's hanging around on my blog is not a relationship, and no relationship is no relationship. It's time to just acknowledge that and just wipe the entire past seven years clean from my life.


I really don't know what I'm going to do with my life now. It would have been one thing if writing had've worked out. If I could have been a real working writer, I would have been happy in my life.


But that's not going to happen, and neither is this. I guess the whole thing was an exercise in humility. If I'm going to write, it just has to be to entertain myself. I am not good enough to write anything anyone else would ever buy, and I am not going to be a working writer ever. Certainly not a self-supporting one.


It's painful enough to have to give up one life's dream, but two? Thank god I met and married my husband. At least fifteen years of my life worked out. At least I was happy for a while.


I really don't know what I'm going to do with my life now. All I know is, it can't have any more to do with him. I may write some about infidelity here and there, but now that my first publication got wiped off Medium and the book isn't selling, I don't think that's very viable, and anyway, the only way to move on is move on. And staying stuck in the past writing about it isn't moving on.


This is really difficult, throwing my whole life away at fifty-four. It really doesn't look as if anything but the day job can stay. Well, that and where I'm living. I'm fortunate to live somewhere affordable and I certainly won't be going anywhere until it's time for the nursing home or the grave.


But that just makes it all the more disconcerting. Here I am a fat old woman, and I look around and my surroundings are the same, but really everything is gone. WTF??


How am I supposed to live now? I really don't know. I guess it's time to find out.


One thing's for sure, the guy will probably always be in my mind and my heart. I would be much happier if I could forget him, but it's been seven years, and I'm pretty sure I never will.


I would say this is why you never, EVER have a relationship with anybody married ... but the fact is I adored the guy way back in the nineties. I was very happy with my husband, but I still had this thing for this guy. I guess from the moment I met him, it was never going to go away.


Am I ever going to be happy again?


If I am, it's going to be a goddamned miracle. If I could just forget him at will, I would. But, I can't.


You know, I always expected better from life than this ... which just goes to show you that the "law of attraction" is bullshit. If I had a penny for all the days I was so excited, thinking of all the ways life was going to go gangbusters for me one day ... I'd be rich.


It turns out that life really is quite painful.


All I can say is, if you discover a soul mate and realize the person's very unhealthy emotionally ... RUN.


I really don't know what else to do now. I guess I should just go back seven years and dust off the series of police procedurals I was working on with my husband before he died. They were the best ideas I ever came up with. Everyone hates the new one, so there's no point doing any more with that.


I look at how much sheer work and drudgery that's going to be and I can barely move. While my husband was alive the stories were fun. I had someone who was glad to help me and who could tell me everything I needed to know to write them for the hours someone with zero knowledge of police work would need and not get too expensive or annoyed. How in fuck's name am I going to find that now??


I'm
 not sure I even want to try. I'm really not sure I want to write anything. But it's all I know how to do. All I can come up with over a writing project is reasons it's not good enough, reasons no one will want it, and why the fuck even bother spending the time and energy? I'm a fifty-four-year old fat woman and success should have happened by forty-two at the latest. But, it didn't and it never will.


Why expend all that energy to write anything? Why bother?


Because I don't know how to do anything else. And everything else that mattered is gone.      

Why Did It Take Me Seven Years to Give Up on My Affair Partner?

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on May 19, 2022 at 4:40 PM

OK, everyone can point fingers and call me an idiot. People get broken up with every day, and healthy people get over it in a matter of months, not years.

 

They also don’t choose to get involved with anyone married in the first place.

 

For me, the lure of my married guy held twin, powerful draws.

 

I grew up my mother’s clone, desperate for approval. She loved horses, so I loved horses. I didn’t realize until my second year at college, where horseback riding for credit was offered, that horses were actually large and intimidating animals and I would actually rather admire them in photos than in the flesh. My mother’s favorite color was red, so my favorite color was red. I was in my early twenties before I seriously considered whether I might actually prefer some other color.

 

So, when my mother, who I will bet any licensed mental health professional has borderline personality disorder, wilted with the pain of low self-esteem and perceived rejection by other people, I vibrated in tandem. I felt my mother’s pain. I just felt so, so badly for my mother and wanted her to feel better.

 

Even at the tender age of six, I could see better reason than she could. I remember wondering why she would bother calling up one family member to complain about another family member, and then the next day calling up the one she had sent down the river the day before to complain about the third one. Certainly, there was a better way to do things.

 

As I grew older, my mother, who blamed her husbands for all of her unhappiness — it was always something they did or didn’t do for her — purchased the first popular self-help books, way back in the 1970s and 1980s. Dr. Joyce Brothers. She never got anything out of them, but I snuck and read them on the sly and I sure did. I am grateful for those books, because they set me on a lifelong path of seeking out information about my emotional problems, her emotional problems, and my upbringing, and trying like heck to heal.

 

I always knew, if my mother would only do this, if my mother would only do that, she could feel and get better. I went on a crusade to get our family into therapy just before I left for college. Little did I know that the borderline generally only participates in therapy as a complaining outlet, and once it no longer is and the therapist starts pushing for some real work and change, the borderline drops out.

 

This was my mother, from the time I went to college to the time I could no longer deal with her unreasonable and upsetting behavior and cut contact back in 2006.

 

I knew by this time that I couldn’t make her do anything. Only she could decide to get into treatment and actually apply herself.

 

So, what did I do after my husband passed away and my lovely marriage ended? Go find a severely codependent ACoA affair partner and reenact the same thing all over again.

 

Scold and scold all you want. I know in my mind that I could never make this person change and that it was never my place to.

 

Unfortunately, old, old feelings from childhood are so deep and so strong that you can’t squelch them with mere intellectual knowledge.

 

I suppose I’m still living with a child’s heart, a child’s broken heart that spent thirty-eight years trying and trying to help her mother, waiting for the day when that person would apply herself and then I would have constructive behavior to support and finally things could be all right.

 

It’s been so very difficult and painful to accept that we don’t live in a world where that happens. People can and do choose to stay sick, to not apply themselves, to suffer and suffer in a well they choose to stay in and that we may not pull them out of.

 

It’s not a world of happy endings, here. It broke my heart to have to accept that then, and it’s still breaking my heart now.

 

But the only thing we can do is just leave people in their misery. We can’t fix them; we can’t change them; we can’t save them.

 

Yet we still have to know how much pain they are in. I could feel that with my mother, and I could feel that with this guy.

 

It’s not fair that there is so much pain in the world, and people are so limited that all they can ever do is suffer. This is knowledge that spawns deep, deep grief in me.

 

And I can’t do anything at all about it.

 

I know. I tried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And Yet Another Card Reading Hits Me Between The Eyes

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on May 19, 2022 at 12:05 AM


Dirty Sally with Worthless, the mule.



So I'm watching a card reading last night, and this was said:


I was essentially counting on this person to help me do what I can't do on my own: Believe in myself.


It's true. If this guy had've shown up, I wouldn't have to wonder if what I understand about life really is true. I would know it was. I wouldn't second-guess the wisdom of constructing a fiction story that ends in happily-enough-ever-after when mine didn't. (What's the point of Disney myths? They are very harmful. It's a beautiful thing when two people elect to work hard on their own problems so they can have a good relationship with each other. But when it doesn't actually happen in your life ... isn't it just a silly Disney myth to write about it?? It didn't actually happen to you; and it doesn't actually happen to most people.)


If the guy had've shown up, I wouldn't have to cheer on and encourage myself. In a good relationship, partners do that for each other. How easy it is to say, "I think my work is crap, but my husband thinks it's great and he encourages me, so I will."


Isn't that what parents are supposed to do for their kids? And mine never did, only for things they wanted me to do or things that reflected well on them. Worst of all is "Indian-giver praise," where a parent praises you at the time only to throw it up in your face later that they did it, or to indicate later on that they really didn't think all that much of what you felt good that they praised you for at the time.


Kids grow up with a big hole where encouragement for the things they really wanted to do was supposed to be. (And I can show you where that is in my horoscope.) I didn't get any of that. I missed out on a dad whose emotional function is to encourage the kids, and now I've looked for a dad to do that for me my whole life.


But you are not supposed to be with a person because you need a dad. You are supposed to be with a person because you accept them as they are and they accept you as you are, not because you need them to supply you with an essential emotional function people are all supposed to have in their own minds. To do that is the foundation of an enmeshed codependent relationship, something we are warned about in our charts extensively.


Why can't I just see that what I write is valuable and go on and believe it and be proud of it and just do it? What's wrong with me??


Um, well, every time I offer something, the world ignores it (mostly), and I get a great big, "You aren't good enough and nobody wants or needs this."


I mean, I can see getting that through your twenties or your thirties and maybe even your forties, but I'm halfway through my fifties now. I'm going to be DEAD before I know it. If you struggle for thirty years and this world just doesn't want what you have, how are you supposed to believe it's good enough? How are you supposed to believe that the hours and hours and hours and hours you put in aren't just hubris, egotism, and narcissism? Why is it worth doing, if nobody sees it and nobody cares? Isn't writing meant to be read?? Isn't that why we do it???


And here is why we were together. Neither one of us can believe in ourselves. He doesn't believe he's worth loving, and, in a more work-related sense, neither do I. We're both trying to use each other to compensate for deficits in ourselves.


This is what the "twin-flame journey" really is. You're "two halves of the same soul" in that your life mission is to resolve the same emotional deficits acquired in childhood, and you think you NEED to be together because the other person resonates so strongly with your same problem. We just have the deficit in a slightly different area.


What I hate about these stupid card readings is they say, "Oh, well, too bad. Unless and until you repair this deficit in yourself, you just won't get anywhere. Sorry. You don't want to do that, so why are you even here? You're just going to pick this same guy again and go through this same unworkable nightmare again. You'd rather do that than fix the problem in yourself."


But I've TRIED to fix the problem in myself. I've TRIED to offer things I've written. If all the world can say is, "Sorry, you're just not good enough," what are you supposed to believe?


I've watched people write things that were absolutely execrable and go blindly on offering things that weren't edited, things that were formatted like a term paper, things with such serious issues that I couldn't even tell what was going on in their story. And they strutted around like peacocks while other people laughed at them out of earshot and shook their heads.


I don't want to be that kind of idiot. So, when people inform me I AM that kind of idiot ... I just quit.


Yet, when I just quit, my life feels absolutely meaningless. So, I try again, and nobody even notices I'm alive or that I wrote anything at all, and ... my life feels absolutely meaningless.


In the face of this, how are you supposed to fix it?


How are you supposed to feel good about yourself when the world can't tell you anything but NO?


Oh, and THEN castigate you for feeling discouragement, and then tell you you're barred from ever succeeding until you don't feel discouragement anymore?


Well, it's right about one thing. I AM trying to use this guy to help myself feel more legitimate in my writing. (I can't even call it "my work." "Work" is actually good enough to earn you a paycheck.)


But my job in life is to just forget about this guy, and wrestle with feeling worthy enough to write things and know that people should value them, even if they never do.


See, now that opens you up to feeling bitter. All writers who aren't at the top of the bestseller lists are like this, jealous and tearing down the ones who are. What did THEY do to deserve such runaway success? Why, Twilight's poorly written and Fifty Shades is just crap and why did THESE people deserve millions while I can't even get arrested?? *I* write better stuff than that person and gripegripegripegripegripe ...


I've listened to it for years. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be like those idiots who write the crap yet strut around telling everyone they walk on water.


I'm just supposed to believe in myself and put it out there and yet just walk away and don't look back, because no one will care and that isn't supposed to matter.


But it DOES matter.


He feels worthless and I feel worthless. That's why we were together; we both understand worthlessness.


We both understand worthlessness very, very well.


I'm told over and over again I'm supposed to be hearing from this guy soon. I'm not counting on it.


First, I see ZERO evidence that this is true, and second, I know it will never be true.


He feels too worthless. 


The only way we could ever win each other into our lives in a healthy relationship is if we didn't feel worthless anymore. And that will never happen. It's just too big an obstacle to overcome in this lifetime. Our parents made us feel so deeply, deeply worthless and we believed it so well, we can't overcome these huge, gaping, bleeding holes in ourselves.


All we're supposed to do in these our miserable lives, is struggle with feelings of worthlessness.


What constitutes winning that struggle???                 

Well, I'm Out Of Here.

Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on May 12, 2022 at 3:20 AM

A question from two days on: Why did I even write this?? (Addendum written May 14th.)


Why did I finally decide to give up on you and chase you out of here?


Because I know that we're never going to speak or see each other again, and these brief sightings of you on here are getting to be just too sad. It's good to know you are here, you read, and you care. That we still love and care about one another, even if we will never see each other again.


Especially after seven years. Seven years of sharing that we care for each other is a long time. Especially under these circumstances. It really, really, really means a lot to me that you have still been here all this time. It really, really does. I love you.


But, we are getting old. I know that one day I will log on and you will be gone. And I'll log on again and again and again, and I just won't see you here anymore. Months will go by during which I hope to see you again, but I won't. And that will be horrible. I have those moments now, and they're bad enough. Oh, he hasn't been here in a few days. Maybe he's just not going to come back this time.


I guess I'd rather just cut ties now than have that day come when I'm forlornly not seeing you on here anymore, looking for some sign you're still out there somewhere and care to let me know you're still here, but you're finally gone for good.


That day will be awful, and I just don't want it. It's going to drag out for months while I hope to see you again, and that will be horrible.


I will be forced to acknowledge that you finally just disappeared, and I will have no idea what happened. Did you reconcile? Did you forget me? Did you die? Are you in a hospital with some cancer, or in a nursing home with Alzheimers?? Will I ever know?


No. And I just don't want to be there. This is okay, and it's meant the world to me that you have been here with me so long. But that will be horrible. And it's going to be just too sad. That's why.


One day, it will happen. Why not just get used to it and over it now? From the moment we said goodbye, it was always going to be my job to change myself from a person who couldn't handle never seeing you again, into a person who can. Putting it off seven more years won't change that or make it any easier. So, why not just go on and do it? It will happen anyway whether I want it to or not. 


One day we're all going to be gone forever. Why not just get it over with? It just doesn't make much sense to hang onto each other anyway. You made your choice; you're staying home.


And, anyway, the person you're really looking for here isn't me. The person you're looking for isn't Rory. It isn't your son; it isn't your daughter. It isn't your brother, your grandchildren, or Rory's brother or sister, or anyone else you imagine is looking at you funny or with disapproval, or whatever. The person you are really looking for is none of these people you live in fear of disappointing. Of not being good enough to be loved.


The person you are looking for is YOU.


And the person I am looking for is ME.


Stop looking here, and go find YOURSELF. That is the one and only person you truly need. Your real self. And my real self is the one and only person I truly need. We need to find those people in this life, before we're too old and we lose our faculties and it's too late.


I will always love you. I wish the best for you, that you will do the work to heal and find peace in your life. I'm sorry if the words I wrote on the 12th sound angry. I'm not. I just don't want the months of looking for you on here when you finally disappear for good to be so sad for me.


Please take care. Do your emotional healing ACoA recovery work. For fuck's sake, PLEASE pick up those "depressing" books. Get well from your sad childhood. You don't deserve to live your whole life feeling like a worm. You are not a worm.


You are not what your sick parents treated you as, just as I am not what my sick parents treated me as. You are a good and wonderful person ... whom things just aren't going to work out for me with, ever in this life.


I can put it off seven years, but I have to acknowledge it some time.


Thank you for your friendship and your support. You're very special. Don't forget that. Thank you for being here with me.


Love, me. 

Written May 12:

The past month or so has been amusing, at best. A certain person, having changed VPN locations/numbers, had fallen back into his old view pattern of checking in here every few days, reading my blogs.


Then, I posted "Let's Just Kiss And Say Goodbye." This number read that, and I don't see that number anymore. Then, the next night, someone comes in on a cell phone under a new number, and stays up all night poring all through here reading a pile of old blogs and messages, as I posted on the new astrology page.


I see him come back six days later and read the three latest, and now ... he hasn't come back in over two weeks. Still won't talk.


Hey, look, whatever.


It looks like you're never going to come back; so, I accept this now. You're never going to come back.


It's time to just give up on this person and totally write this person off. I've transmitted what I was supposed to, and that was the only reason for all this. He finally came in and got all his messages, and now the job is done.


This person has no intention of ever making anything real out of this, whatever he wishes or doesn't wish he could have/should have done. There will never be anything more out of this relationship in this earthly plane, so I'm packing it in and moving on.


You have elected to stay home; I have accepted that decision. Goodbye. I wish you the best. I still know, even if you don't, that you are a good, good person. You don't deserve to feel as badly about yourself as you do. You don't deserve to feel badly about yourself at all. There is nothing wrong with you; there never was. You really do deserve all the love a good person has to give you; you just don't want it. Or, you don't want to work for it. So, okay. All I can do is accept that.


(It doesn't really matter, though. I can talk myself blue in the face and it will never matter, at all.)


Enjoy your wonderful family; you have great kids and grandchildren, and you're very fortunate in that.


I'm very sad about this. I always wished things would be different. But, it's been seven years, and if things aren't different in seven years, they're sure not going to be different in eight or nine or ten. I can't spend the rest of my life looking back at you, because you're never going to come forward.


Nothing is ever going to manifest here between us. Not my decision; but I accept it fully and am writing you off forever. When love isn't wanted, and is just going to lie on the table and never get used, best to just pick it up and go.


And for fuck's sake, stop coming around here. What's the point?? You're never coming back, so just stay gone.


If you're going to be in your family, then be in your family fully. Really choose to be there, and be there.


Write this off. Forget about it. Leave. Forget you ever knew me. What's the point of mooning around here over a love you left on the table and won't ever come back and get?


I am done waiting for you. It's been seven years. It's time to just wipe you and all thoughts of you from my life. It's never going to happen. Nothing productive is left any more.


I've posted you everything I know and all I can. There's just no more here.


I've learned all I could from this, and now there's just nothing more to be gained from dwelling on the past seven years in any way. 


We no longer have any obligation whatsoever to each other. I am free of you; you are free of me.


We will never speak or see each other again. I accept that now, and I'm out. A person who never comes back, is a person who never comes back. No relationship is no relationship. It's been seven years. You hang around and hang around, and still can't bring yourself to speak.


So, okay. Hugs to you. I love you, but it's time to detach with love. Goodbye.


********* end messages to this person.**********


Other things I'm thinking I need to wipe clean from my life: Writing. It, too, is a total dead end. Nothing ever manifested from it; I don't believe that anything ever will. I wrote the essay book and now I'm done.


If this world needed anything I ever wrote, seems like over the past 54 years, something would have clicked, something would have stuck, something would have fit, something would have worked.


Both of these things have just been unhealthy obsessions that do more to make me unhappy than they ever have anything else. I struggle, and nothing happens. I struggle, and nothing clicks. I struggle, and nothing works. I struggle, and nothing ever comes back.


I am sick of unproductive energy in my life where I put out and put out and try and try and nothing ever comes back.


Maybe it's time to wipe the slate clean and start all, all over again with nothing, at zero.


What would I do if I wasn't obsessively writing all the time? How would I spend my time? What else would I have liked? Who else would I be? 


Might as well find out, because writing is just a dead end for me and has been for thirty years. Just like this guy who lurks and won't talk.


It's freeing to just cast everything away and give up on it. I no longer have to struggle and struggle and struggle and struggle to do things I CANNOT DO. I no longer have to struggle and struggle and struggle and struggle to be something I will never be.


Oh, and thin. I can give up on thin, too. I will never be that, either.


I suppose I'll always feel a compulsion to write something down from time to time, but I don't expect anything from it anymore. There's no point in working so hard at it anymore. All this world can tell me is that I am not good enough.


Kind of like this guy, all this world can tell me is that it is never going to happen.


There's no point in asking for it to ever be anything. I'm going to be an old woman soon. It hasn't worked. It never will.


I think one big reason I got all buried in writing in the first place was because I was afraid of people, and if I buried myself in writing and Told Myself I Was Doing Something Important, I could just do that and not have to deal with struggling to establish friendships, and feeling shut out and inadequate. I have never been able to find friends and fit in and mesh well together with other people.


If I made up an identity for myself as This Big Writer, and had my nose buried in that all the time, now I didn't have to care anymore. I could just ignore other people the same way they always ignored me.


And it made for a great bond with my husband, because we were both so focused on Achievement In Writing. We both understood and supported that about each other. We were just never going to get there!! At least I got to have that relationship in my life. It was wonderful while it lasted; it was just based on dreams that could never come true.


I guess the lesson here is not to HAVE dreams that can never come true. My husband always used to say that you have to have dreams; and I always disagreed.


Dreams just bring pain. They never work out, and we're always upset.


I think the only dream it is ever okay to have is to be perfectly, perfectly, perfectly and absolutely OK with the world happening as it is. You can't change it; and only by accepting everything around you that you can't control can you achieve any measure of peace.


And I can't control anything. Anything, anything, anything at all; anything, anything at all.


I think I might take some of my newfound time and treat myself out to an art museum or something. I have never been to one, and it's time to do something new. I always wanted to go to the ballet; I just don't know how to drive or park downtown. And there's always covid 19 to worry about. After just being so ill, fuck knows I don't need to come down with that next.

I wonder what else I could do?


The trouble is, there is nothing else I ever wanted to do. I never, ever wanted anything else but these two guys, and to be a writer. Life, it appears, is in the business of making absolutely sure that, if I want something, it becomes a literal and absolute impossibility the living instant I realize I want it.


When it's abundantly clear that what you want does not and will never want you, but you don't have anything else to do or to want ... WTF, DO you actually DO?


Oh, well. The good thing is, once you realize that working for a thing is a complete and total waste of time, a lot more time opens up, and there's a lot less pressure. Nothing is more of a pressure cooker than trying harder and harder and harder and harder to do a thing you cannot really do.


I'm not sure there will be any more entries on this blog. If I think of anything worthwhile to say, I will write something, and if not, I won't.

I'm afraid I will never find anything that feels fulfilling to me and brings anything back to me in the measure that I put out. I have always reached out into this world in ways that do not inspire this world to reach back. I'm getting older, and you can't really say I've had a full and successful life.


It kind of looks as if this life will always be just an empty shell. I hope not. But, I've discovered I really can't expect much. I don't even want much, anymore. I couldn't have the things I wanted, and nothing else ever really much appealed.


Oh, well.


My only advice to those trodding the third-party relationship path after me is this: If you're miserable and upset, stay with that and learn the lessons you have to learn. You will be better off afterwards.


But do not expect the relationship to ever work out. The lessons you need to learn happen BECAUSE the relationship did not work out and you were left in all this pain. Just go ahead and learn them, and when you've learned them, you will be ready to discard a painful and disappointing waste of what could have been a good relationship and just forget about it.


It's all you can really do. You can't make anyone want to stay. You can't make anyone want to do their work. You can't make anyone care. When they don't, all you can do is heal and forget.

              


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