The fog is still in the harbor

Yes, I’m afraid it seems to be true. I’ve written about the fog before, even using the term “fog in the harbor.” I even posted an optimistic post about that fog lifting the following day. It seems like the only thing I’ve been right about so far is the thickness of the fog.

You know what I’m talking about, right? The affair fog. The rush of dopamines and subsequent dopamine addiction that clouds the thought processes of the adulterer, that smashes their moral compass, and that casts them into a confused world where wrong is right, where the rules and mores of society simply do not apply because their situation is just so unique. It is a world that piles rationalization upon rationalization, and cobbles them all together with a generous coating of lies and deceit.

This might not sound like a world of which to be proud, but believe it or not, the adulterer typically is proud of that world. They broadcast the news of it far and wide, as though there is nothing amiss or even slightly suspect about it. They find a few people here and there who take the bait and actually fall for the transparent stupidity of it, too, and those people help to prolong the adultery by giving it the veneer of legitimacy it does not, nor ever will have.

That was a long preamble to the topic at hand, which is my wife’s weekly visit. Looking back over the trajectory of the last 6 months, it’s kind of hard for me to believe that we’ve ended up here. It’s really quite insane. Over the first two months, I built a huge amount of goodwill and closeness with my wife, yet she still moved out. She had to, it was in her script, and she just could not have that rewritten, not fundamentally. The details had already been substantially rewritten, as I was supposed to have been totally out of her life by January 1st, and she should have been moved in with the adulterer and living the fairy tale, happily ever after, from that point on. But life never really works out the way you think it will, and when you are following an imaginary script, there are all sorts of surprises.

On the surface, things have deteriorated steadily over the past 4-1/2 months, to the point where my wife now actually lives with the adulterer, is playing make-believe housewife, and is likely making all sorts of plans for the future with this character. She never answers my calls, and only contacts me with logistical concerns. She is adamant about keeping her position, and gets irritable with me when I stick up for our marriage.

Underneath the surface, though, I have been sowing the seeds of goodwill and unconditional love, and it is a near certainty that these have long since taken hold and are starting to grow a robust root system. It must be rather frustrating for my wife, for in a somewhat insidious way these roots are redefining her life and rewriting that story.

It is with this mixed-bag situation that I will likely go into my weekly meeting with my wife. I have a pretty early start tomorrow, and so it’s possible that she will try to avoid seeing me altogether, and opt for dropping the dog off here while i’m not at home. That would be pretty predictable. Guess I’ll have to wait and see.

One thing strikes me when I think about all the times I’ve sen my wife recently. She just looks so heavy. I don’t mean heavy in the sense of overweight, but rather heavy in terms of her spirit and energy. Everything about her looks tired, worn down, frazzled, deeply uncertain, and horribly unhappy. I don’t know, a woman professing to be as happy as she says she is just shouldn’t look this way. Maybe she is happy when she is up in la-la land, but then she does have to come out to face the real world once a week. That’s where the tension starts, I guess.  Actually I’m pretty sure that the tension is there all the time, it’s just kept at bay by her addiction. (See dopamines, above.)

I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to see how all this plays out. This is another month with milestones, and this time it’s my birthday. I wonder if she’s going to ignore that or try to engage me somehow. Time will tell, and I remain as committed as ever.