Stomach Churning as a Lifestyle Choice

It's been a Stomach-Churning Week.  The photo above, where  Year 11 students have appropriated The Sacred Whiteboard whilst I look on in   puzzlement, has nothing to do with it. But then again, rarely do my accompanying pictures have that much in common with what I'm writing. 

Both the photos are of course Wardrobe Remix shots, & my wardrobe rarely, if ever gives cause for Stomach Churning. In fact, I think it's fair to say that My Wardrobe, which is Definitely Not a Static Entity, is a source of Continual Delight & Amazement to me.

You may think I've stepped over the line here into Shameless Bragging. And perhaps you're right. But all the same, it's True. 

Every day except Sunday when it's shut, I visit 'Bednobs & Broomsticks' Thrift Shop which is conveniently located at a half-way point  between my home & my place of employment.  In other words, it's about a hundred metres from home, & a hundred metres from school. Just about every day I manage to find some item to drag home & place inside My Wardrobe. Like everything I'm wearing just about in both photos. Actually, in this case, it's strictly not true, but the boots & the skirt & the top are from there. 

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I suppose I should tell you why it's been a Stomach-Churning Week, not that I use the blog as a Confessional or anything.  Quelle Horreur!

Well, I finally sent a email to Mr. Ex-Middleaged who I hadn't heard from since New Year's Eve. No one that I've met in my entire life has been in a relationship for fourteen years where they've owned homes & apartments & beach houses & raised a blended family inside them only for their partner to suddenly leave without any warning & not hear from them.  For months. And   not do anything about it. Just carry on living like it Never Happened, only that it did happen. 

Other women look at me in amazement. I can hear them saying to each other 'You know, he walked out on her & she's just taken it. If it was me, I wouldn't put up with it for five minutes'. Hard as it may be to believe, a few sensitive women have actually said something like that to me. It's a real Conversation Enhancer.

So, I finally got sick of feeling like a Modern Saint Sebastian, you know, the poor bloke who was martyred by being struck by like a hundred arrows or maybe poisoned darts. Or the Poor Old Woman dragging the little wagon of wet firewood, which I believe is known as 'faggots', behind her. 

So I sent him an email at 8.25 am yesterday morning & received a reply by 8.32. It took me four days to write something that was literally Dripping in Dignity & another whole day to actually 
click  'Send'. 

I'll keep you posted.