Tagged: divorce
Coming To Amazon This Week – The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor, by Pete Deakon
Simon Pastor believed he had never been hurt before. By the time he found himself in an uncontrolled cycle of hurting his wife, he realized that was not true. He felt his wife had hurt him. Then he hurt her. And hurt her. And hurt her. Finally, he divorced her. But that didn’t stop the hurt.
The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor is an explicit look at innocence and hurt. It is not about innocence lost, but about innocence never had. It is about the most destructive kind of hurt. A shameful tale of his descent into madness, The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor offers an unencumbered look into one man’s failed marriage and failed divorce.
Letter to My Friend About Publishing The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor
Hey Friend,
I’ve been thinking about your phone call last week, about the unnamed feeling you felt. Now, I can’t possibly know what you’re thinking about your book, but here’s what I’m thinking about my book. I’m terrified to put it on sale and have people read it. Terrified. Why? Because on that day the dream ends. I think I told you about my next book, Eight Acres, and that I have always had a problem of fantasizing about the future rather than living in the now. After talking with you the other morning at the Egg and I (and even before then) I’ve been sustained by the dream that The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor will really take root. That it will go viral. That men (and their women) will write me to thank me for being the vulnerable one and sharing my experiences with such daring. And oh yes, radio shows. Probably even television will be in the mix, to be honest. And more than that, the dream has included that I won’t have to get a real job again. Because I can’t stand working.
But the day I list the book on Amazon, the dream ends. In its place will be only one simple reality–it won’t sell. Unlike the book version of this blog, Simon Pastor may sell 50 copies or so to family and friends and random blog followers because it is new material. But it won’t go viral. It won’t “put me on the scene”. It won’t prevent me from having to endure a real job again. It might, of course, but it won’t. No, it actually doesn’t even have a might. It just won’t. Make no mistake, I needed to write this book. I needed to write it like I need my next breath. And I need to write my blogs. But that’s a far cry from it selling. I’m beginning Eight Acres this weekend and will likely have it complete before February. But then the money starts running out. The dream will end. And I’ll be putting to test my resolve at being kind to my ex-wife as my new job’s schedule will likely act as a catalyst to backsliding into anger and hurt.
I am happy though. Really happy. I don’t regret anything and I wouldn’t change a thing about how I lived my life since taking the oil rig job. 33 is a big year for me. Laughing, I told George the other day that only after having finished this book did I remember that I predicted back in church camp years ago that 33 was when I’d start my calling. Ha. Everyone else always acted like it was in/around college that they would begin their calling. Well, at 18 I said that I felt mine would begin at 33 because that’s how old Jesus was (give or take) when they killed him. Immature, misguided, morbid, delusional, but true nonetheless. And you can bet I never imagined my calling would be a book centered on divorce. Suffice it to say, I can’t wait to hit 34 and laugh at my prophetic abilities. Either way, I’m certain that no matter what it is going to be a helluva lot of fun.
Okay. Sell your book. Give it away. Get people reading it. And on to the next one.
Pete
PS – James Hetfield of Metallica said, “Music is my therapy. I need to do it.” I’m not sure that’s exactly where you’re at with writing, but I think you can see the value in his honest admission. With this book, I am certain now that money has nothing to do with the fact that I need to write.
Teaser for Pete Deakon’s New Book: The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor
You know how movie teasers and trailers are fun in and of themselves? Well, here’s the teaser for my new book. Enjoy!
A black screen disappears in favor of a silent scene of a bloodied, weeping man trying desperately to beat down an apartment door; inside the apartment is a slouching drunk wearing a look of frightening resignation and throwing his nearly empty tumbler at that door; curious music now accompanies the camera as it closes in on the drunkard’s painful expression of doom. As if a film projected onto his eyes we see video of a beautiful woman leaning in expectantly towards that same man, though younger and full of life. His eyes dissolve out of the background and we now see the man jealous of the woman as she dances the night away with others; then an engagement; then the music quickens to frantic as the pace of the montage of already short video clips speeds up until they are not much more than still images in which we see yelling, fighting, painful looks, divorce papers, fear, and hurt.
Then the screen returns to silent black and the text “The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor” appears. As it fades away the text “Coming Soon” takes its place almost in a whisper.
My Online Dating Profile
Sometimes I like to dare myself. Recently my hopes of actually finding a like-minded soul online were dashed again. Shortly thereafter it seemed fun and yet inconceivable to share something as intimate as how I sold myself. I could preamble this for forever but will stop here. You will never know how much pleasure writing this and imagining womens’ reactions to it brought me.
ABOUT PETE
Can you handle truth? Here goes. I am a divorced father who works a goofy two-weeks on/off schedule on an oil rig. Before that, I was an Air Force pilot. I usually have my daughter when I’m home, but her mom gets her for a few nights. I’m looking for a pump and dump. Well, at least the pump part. The dump part is up to you.
What are you looking for? Are you looking for spontaneous? Are you looking to laugh? Are you hoping to find a guy who isn’t interested in breaking your heart? Perhaps you’d like to finally meet a guy who makes you feel special? That’s me. Promise!
Ladies: No matter how nice you think I am or if I ask you the most interesting question you’ve ever been asked on here, please don’t message me if you’re not interested in meeting in person. A pen pal has no appeal to me. A woman, though, a real woman? Now that is the most appealing thing I can imagine. If you read at all, to give you a flavor of what she looks like read this post I wrote: A Jaw Dropping Woman.
Also, you should know that people probably don’t use the word “kind” to describe me. That’s good, because I’ve never even wanted to be kind. Instead, I’ve always aimed for things like a huge heart, a great sense of humor, edgyness–sometimes crossing the line–and pretty sharp. Other things that I wouldn’t think to say out loud (but am learning I need to) include great father, hard worker, and uncommon integrity. Though it seems most people can’t even discern those qualities’ value until it’s too late.
As a final note, if you have “finally ready to settle down” on your profile…well, I think Danny Kaye in White Christmas says it best, “My dear partner, when what’s left of you gets around to what’s left to be gotten, what’s left to be gotten won’t be worth getting whatever it is you’ve got left.” The point is “finally ready” sounds depressing as shyat to me. A “thanks for giving everyone else in your life the good stuff. I guess I just get leftovers.” No thank you.
Lastly, I’m not fat; I went to college after high-school and graduated in four years, and I am not all tatted up. Couples look like each other. Have you ever noticed that? Then again, I don’t put stock in checking boxes, so maybe you think you have what it takes and have sleeves. I doubt it, but would love to be wrong here.
FIRST DATE
I pick up the tabs, you put out.
(I’m laughing so hard. If you’re not, allow me to welcome you to earth.)
The end.
Sleepless
“So how’s working nights these last three months been going?” George asked.
“It’s okay. The night shift is slightly less stressful and as you know I worked nights nearly my entire time in the Air Force,” Pete answered.
“That’s right. So no big thing? No problems sleeping?”
“Nope, no problems sleeping,” Pete said. “Well, that’s not entirely true. Sometimes, if I discover something undesirable is happening that is out of my control right before bed then I lie awake thinking about how to regain control. And then I just watch the clock. That’s no fun.”
“Like what?”
“The home loan thing did it to me last time. I have no idea why I answered the phone, but I did and it proceeded to limit my sleep to about three hours out of eight that afternoon. Want to know what I thought about most of that time?”
“Sure. What?” George asked.
“Her.”
“Of course you thought about her. H- is your daughter and you miss her. Everyone knows that. That’s nothing to be worried about,” George conceded.
“Not her. Well, of course her, but her. H-‘s mother.”
“Oh.”
“Yep. It seemed as rational and logical as anything as I laid there. I was trying to solve the problem of not seeing H- as much as I think I should. And then it hit me. If we re-married, then I’d be able to see H- all the time. And you know that I hate that she has another male adult figure in her life besides me. So I started developing this whole scenario of what life would be like if I approached her mom and tried to make an argument for trying again. She’d have to lose the dogs of course. And quit her job. And do what I say. But man, it could be perfect.”
“Jesus Pete.”
“I know!” Pete retorted. “I know. That’s what I’m saying George. It was eight acres all over again.”
“Eight acres?”
“Yeah. You remember? The book I’m writing. It’s about how some of us seem to be fine living with unpleasantness in the present by simply imagining and dreaming about some ideal future that is only a few strokes of luck away.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. You didn’t mention this to her while you were gone did you?”
“Of course I did. Ha. It’s a lot of alone time George.”
“Oh shit. What’d she say?”
“Not interested.”
“Well, considering her actions during the marriage and the divorce I’d say she just did you a favor Pete. It would’ve never worked. H- would’ve been the worse for it.”
“You’re right. You’re right. Even when I did bring it up, the fantasy had worn off a little and reality set in,” Pete conceded with an expression of sadness that was quickly erased by sincerity. “I just want to see H-.”
“Yep. We all do. Don’t worry so much. You’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so.”
Review of Blue Valentine, the Once NC-17 Ryan Gosling movie
Yesterday’s post didn’t command any likes. Instead, it garnered a lot of love. Thank you. The only way to get there is together.
****
Even though I’ve seen how it’s done, I’m always amazed that a man with a full head of hair can be made to look like a man who is balding, Ryan Gosling is no exception. Like Charlize Theron in Monster, here we have a very attractive celebrity turned bum. Seriously fellas, if your lady-friend is a bit too enamored with the man, press play on Derek Cianfrance’s divorce exposé.
Not a new film, gossip clearly deters many would be viewers. Even with foreknowledge that it is going to be an uncompromising look at a close-to-home trial, it’s impossible to prepare for Valentine’s authenticity. And that’s what places it ahead of its preteen Judd Apatow et al. peers.
Spanning love’s spectrum, the movie passes through the always interesting topics of 1. single men and women’s respective concerns about love and marriage, 2. our undeniable wish for love-at-first-sight to make the jump from fairy tale land to factical life, and 3. a holy-shit-I-thought-that-was-just-something-that-happened-to-me disintegration of a relationship with ease.
And now a note to the MPAA: get it together. You’re not protecting anything but your jobs. Drop the letter system. Increase the descriptions. And allow movie-makers the opportunity to tell stories that have some basis in this world, not distract them with PG-13 revenues.
Make no mistake, this movie is not pleasant. Questions are not answered. But if you laugh at the saying, “Ignorance is bliss”, if you consider yourself a seeker, or if you’re the mother of a son and sometimes ask, “Are you sure you couldn’t have worked things out?” watch the movie. (It’s on Netflix.)
The Plea Answered
Dear Legs,
First, please forgive me for not responding sooner. I was very moved by your letter, and fully intended to write you back that day. But, as you know, life got in the way. I’m sorry for that.
Skipping the weather chit-chat (face already reminds me daily that it has been sunny), I will get right to it. Regarding why I am making you work so hard these days, I think I know. You asked about the reason that I made you work so hard of late. You asked if I was running from “responsibility” or “failure”. With certainty I can tell you “No”.
I do think that I have discovered the reason that I am putting you through this situation, however. Do you remember doing the mediation before the divorce? There was a lot of talk about money and how much I had to pay her. Do you remember the part about how each tax season we’d review our incomes to see if the “Memorandum of Understanding” needed to be adjusted based on how much money she and I were making? I actually feel a bit silly admitting this, silly because I’m sure I can just ask a friend what the real answer is, but if I remember right, the rules to the divorce included that if I became a millionaire, I would have to pay her more than I already do. Well, here’s the thing. I don’t want to pay her more. So it’s shit jobs with shittier salaries for now.
It probably doesn’t make sense to you two, my friends, but I think for these next couple of years I’d rather risk ruining our relationship–yours and mine–than hear another man order me to pay her more money.
I know you’re tired. Believe me when I say I am more than aware that I am the reason you both feel and are tired. I am sorry about that. On the bright side, we’ve made it through one year, and that means only a few more years until this burden is lifted. And you know how time flies. Maybe I’ll even call up my lawyer friend and find out that I’m wrong about the situation.
In any case, thank you for not giving up on me. I will owe you both a lot when all this has passed.
Thoughtfully Yours,
Brain
Idiotic Embarassing Weakness
“I’m David,” the guy said, extending his hand.
“Pete.”
His handshake was firm, and while the whole situation caught him by surprise, he was glad it was over. He had always wondered what it would be like to meet the ex’s boyfriend. No big thing. In a way he was almost glad to see that she’d latched on to someone else. Maybe there’d be a day when he’d finally be done paying her way.
The next time he saw the two of them, Pete noticed nicely wrapped presents under a well-placed Christmas tree. Seemed like a lot considering Santa hadn’t come yet.
“Whatever,” he thought, brushing off any emotions.
Perhaps it was the monotonous sound of the shovel against the concrete, but a curious thought formed. Standing still, the shovel parallel to the ground, he thought, “Wasn’t her long-lost love named David?” Thinking back to the news video she showed him of this David on the computer screen in his parent’s basement years ago, he instantly flew into a rage. “You gotta be shitting me. No way. I can’t believe it. She’s back with the guy that didn’t take her with the first time around. What the fuck?
“Why would she ever marry another man and have a child with him if all this time she just wanted this other guy? Holy hell. I have never felt so used in my entire life. It’s like I’m slowly becoming white-trash because I met one person,” he thought, as a feeling of madness encroached.
“I can’t wonder on this one; I have to know for sure.”
He pulled his glove off, and took his phone out of his pocket. Looking around to make sure no one saw him texting-while-shoveling, he shot her a quick inquiring text, “Is that David the ol’ PJ, love of your life David?”
Trying to calm himself through work, he found snow-removal’s singularity only accelerated his passions.
“It all makes sense. She didn’t work a day during the marriage. And from what I remember this guy is not one to want for money. Here I am essentially working two jobs to pay her off and stay out of debt that should have never accrued, and she’s living the high-life with an old fling. Are they living together? She better not be planning to do something stupid like move out of Denver. There are things I can take, and things I can’t. I’m not fighting a woman for my child because she’s a gold-digging, lazy, negative louse. Her and her folks. The whole clingy, enabling lot of them can join in a chorus of ‘blood’s thicker ‘n mud’–I’ll stick with right action.
“Surely she’s responded by now.” He checked his phone. “Nope. Why not? I know they’re awake. The little girl can’t sleep past 7:30 for anything. I should’ve seen this coming. I’d always heard about women, and yet I thought I was smarter than other men. So much for that. Should’ve never spent a day with that girl. My God, what have I done? It’s like crazy Charlie Sheen said, ‘You don’t pay a prostitute for sex, you pay her to leave.’ Isn’t that turning out to be the truth?”
He anxiously checked his phone again.
“At last a text!” he muttered. It was just the library letting him know the book he ordered had arrived.
“Come on woman.”
Now inside, his warming fingers checked the device again. Finally she responded. Her text was beautiful for its simplicity: “No.”
“Perhaps she’s not entirely an evil succubus,” he thought, his relief more acute than his shame.
The Co-Parent Mystique
Almost a year had passed before he recognized something was wrong. But something was most definitely wrong. Initially it was nice to have a break every few days, a night off, the ability to catch-up on whatever he felt like catching up on. Now, however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to enjoy that time. He felt the way he imagined a python’s prey did. His every hope for relief resulting in the python constricting tighter. And tighter. And tighter.
Initially, there was curiosity about what she was doing when she wasn’t with him. Most importantly he wondered if and what man took his place. All the literature explicitly told him not to play detective, so he didn’t. In fact, following the literature’s recommendations was the easy part. That’s what made this so difficult. How could the ‘right’ way feel so bad?
Time was starting to take its toll. Make no mistake, he was sure he made the right decision. On the whole, though, his last couple decisions had him wondering if he only made them in order to see for himself that life was as difficult as he had always been told. Feeling pretty dumb, he longed for his life before it became difficult. Scratch that, he didn’t think life was difficult; he compartmentalized life too much to make such a sweeping generalization. He told himself that life wasn’t difficult, just half of life–the half without his daughter.
Sometimes with one hand, sometimes with both hands behind her head, she often slept “like a boss.” He missed seeing that. He missed the way all three turns from the bathroom to the kitchen were wide-turns as she ran to get her treat after successfully going potty. He missed the way she opened and closed all her fingers in unison as she beckoned, “Ca-meer!”
The sinking feeling was inescapable. He was disgusted by it. Yet, he couldn’t avoid it. “The reason the situation is so difficult is that it doesn’t have to be this way,” he’d lie to himself. Maybe her mother would see that he could do a better job and let him raise her full-time. Maybe–just maybe–his daughter would request to live with Daddy full-time some day. Way beyond foolishness is shame. He was so ashamed of these selfish thoughts.
Thoughts like these only stifled him. He had not experienced “stifled” before. For that reason alone, he knew his daughter would need more than a stifled version of him. He knew he could do better than that, but he also believed he shouldn’t have to re-invent the wheel. Surely other people were dealing with the same feeling, right? Since it involved shame, he guessed so. If he had to, he would be the first to break the silence. She was worth it.
Captain’s Log 