He left me this week. If I was completely honest with myself, I would tell you that 18 and a half years ago, I saw this coming.  And if I was honest with him, I’d tell him that I’ve thought about leaving a hundreds times over, never realising my wildest dream.  But here we now are. Together and apart. Somewhere waist deep in the murky waters of differing versions of reality, truth and despair.  Somewhere that at times, I’d envisioned to be, but never really wanted to reach.

I’m now part of the rising statistic of marriage separation and divorce in the modern ages. And I’m becoming increasingly uncomfortable with just how ‘okay’ I think I am with this outcome. Marriage is a funny thing. A commitment filled with so many nouns, adjectives and verbs; actionable promises made for a forever version of yourself you’re forecasting to meet. For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, Shane and I had fulfilled those promises for 6722 days. We’d even made it to ‘til death do us part’. That is to say, the death of our marriage.

#1 Originally I became obsessed with weight training after I saw Arnold Schwarzenegger in ‘To Kill a Painter’. I don’t really understand what the appeal was, but I suspect it had something to do with his accent, a kind of Scandinavian American cross that often had one struggling to understand what the hell he was saying. Anyway, bizarrely, the plot of the movie had nothing to do with killing a painter, yet everything to do with the history of “Art through the Ages,” a seminal secondary school textbook for students of art. It covered everything from painting, sculpture, architecture and history itself – religious and philosophical. I can clearly remember the scene when Arnold looks quizzically at the painter, a forlorn, out of work artist and asks, “assisted lift may be required.” “Vat does dis mean?” And then the poor fellow, a young Cezanne, having to explain the meaning, which by the way, had nothing to do with catching a lift to the Men’s department, which was precisely where the scene was set. Kind of like a ‘Are you Being Served’ setting. A stuffy, old fashioned, department store with old queens preening themselves and looking down their noses at anyone who dared requiring assistance. Ah, there we are, back at the assisting part of the story. All in all, it was quite dreary, a washed-out grey palette of a visual and lacking any details as interesting as a space capsule with all the buttons, lights and beepers, over stimulating your brain.

#2 The Japanese have a saying; what goes up must come down. Well that’s right, open an umbrella and bingo, you stop the rain on your head, but at some stage the rain stops, and the brolly goes down.
#3 Next minute, the rain comes again and up goes the umbrella, it’s a never-ending cycle, which is a bit like the movie. It went on and on, over the centuries, giving amazing insights culturally and spiritually into the world that we humans have created. But how does it end you may ask?
#4 I couldn’t make it out at first – what was it that Cezanne and Arnold have in common? Other than engaging in delightful, incomprehensible dialogue, it suddenly dawned on me. Blue eyes, they both have blue eyes! Now you might ask, what does that have to do with my obsession with weight training. Well when,
#5 I couldn’t find the switch to bring me back to reality, having just experienced the most heart rendering break-up, I knew I needed to change things up. Now I’ve always hated a few things physically about the opposite sex.
1/ facial hair
2/ fat fingers
3/ body builders’ physiques
#6 It was brilliant. I thought, ok, now you must face your demons. You must find a new lover – one who looked like Arnie Schwarzenegger, has fat fingers and sports a hipster, barista toting beard. Well do you think that anyone of that description existed on this planet. Yeah, you’re thinking right, no siree! But then, riding home one night, past the vaults on Flinders Street, out stepped the most beautiful man I have ever seen from the hardcore, Doherty’s City Gym. And yes, you guessed it, great muscle tone, fattish fingers, a super cute goatee and blue eyes to boot! Best of all, Arnie Number 2 and I, have lived happily after ever since.

My ‘things’ a blue clothes peg, two British Paint swatches: ‘Whitsunday Passage’ 261 (pale blue) & ‘High Alert’ 50 (yellow)

Prompt statements: originally, the Japanese have a saying, next minute, I couldn’t make it out, I couldn’t find the switch, it was brilliant.

Originally, he was meant to have been on a beach in Thailand by now, soaking up the warm sunshiny rays. He could picture it vividly, yellow sun, yellow sand, blue surf and gradually pinkening skin.

But now he here was, on high alert, navigating the yacht through the Whitsunday passage whilst an angry swell raged all around, tossing them to and fro like a toddler having a tantrum. He looked over at his co-Captain who was currently sporting a clothes peg on each ear – a rumored ‘cure’ for sea-sickness – which judging by his pallid complexion and sweaty brow, didn’t seem to be working one iota.

The boat hull cut cut through the waves like a jagged knife, his hands on the wheel were white-knuckle. He wished for a moment that he actually believed in a God – because if he did he’d have had someone to curse, pray to and beg forgiveness for whatever he had done to get himself into this dire predicament.

The storm had come out of left field, blown in by an ill wind determined to ruin everything and teach humankind once again who was really the boss of this show. The Japanese have a saying that basically translates to this: Nature never gives a man more than he can handle. But right now, he wasn’t so bloody sure about that… Next minute he was interrupted from his musings over obscure Japanese sayings by a loud crack and startling shudder – undoubtedly, they had hit a reef.

I couldn’t make it out in the raging swell, but the reef beneath had most certainly grabbed on and wasn’t letting go without a fight. It was the stuff nightmares were made of for any sea Captain worth his salt.

Damnit! I couldn’t find the switch to lower the tender boat off the side. This was the first time The Lady 261 had been chartered this season, and some upgrades had taken place since the last time he had Captained her – including on the main console. It was brilliant. Of all the infernal times to have cut some corners during his safety checks! If he survived this he was going to have to do some serious soul searching… Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for this life anymore. Well anyway, if they went down on this bloody reef it was a decision he wasn’t going to have to make…

Originally the little love heart was purchased for his daughter on a particularly dark day.  He wanted her to know he had enough love for both himself and her mother.  That there would always be love there.

When she came in from the lake she saw the heart on her bedside table.  She picked it up and knew who it was from and what it meant.  But a glass heart would not do.  It would not compensate.  It would not placate.  She picked it up and walked back outside and hurled it into the lake.  It didn’t skim, it plunged and dropped deep.  Love gone.

As if it never was.  And she felt no sadness, just nothing.  And walked back.

How could he love for two when he pushed her love away?  He wasn’t enough.

To find a heart in the bottom of a lake was no surprise.  Water beds hide all sorts of treasures.  His hand reached out through the murky water hopeful it was worth more than glass.  A diamond from a long ago land.  A precious jewel thrown overboard in a lover’s tiff.

Reaching the surface and closer inspection revealed its modest qualities.  But it would still be worth something to someone. Not everyone.  A heart is not for everyone.  One taker would do.  Only one person needs this heart.

He plonked it in his trolley along with his other bits and pieces and pushed on to the market.

With a heart given, a heart bought, he could eat tonight surely.

There’s a saying, if you want to find love, go fishing for it.  The way you go fishing of course is up to you but go fishing none the less – for love, always fish for love.

The next minute after contemplating this saying, it was as if fate was delivered.  There, before her was a glass heart, held by a young boy, thin, tanned, unwashed.  But the heart was shining, glowing, clean.  Before she had even decided whether she would have it her hand was already in her pocket holding her money.  “How much for the heart?” she asked.

He couldn’t make out what she was saying, so transfixed was he on the heart.  Its turquoise colour mesmerising.  She repeated and by this time was holding out the notes.

He froze, not able to answer or move.  Was this heart emitting energy or was it his imagination?  So inside his own mind, he couldn’t make the switch to actually speaking.  He just felt.  Was it love?  Was it sadness, was it anger?  How did he feel? Why could he not move?

The heart’s brilliance radiated.  They both stood staring as if the heart might speak, even though they already both felt its extraordinary message.  Would he give it, would he take the money to eat?  He couldn’t say.

And then they looked at each other.  Was it a stand off or a falling in love?  Would they fight for it? It was her heart, given many years ago.  Thrown.  It was her own love and ability to love inside that heart.  She needed it back. You can’t throw love away.  Not everyone is lucky enough to get it back.