Absence makes the heart grow fonder

This is just a quick note I’ll be writing right now, not a lengthy post that requires a lot of thought and consideration.

Once again my wife failed to turn up this morning. She has apparently extended her stay at Camp Chickenshit at least through this morning, if not longer. I do know that she has a student to teach at home tomorrow afternoon, so she should at least be home then. She also is supposed to have a rehearsal in town this afternoon, although she bailed on that last week, claiming to be “sick” (she wasn’t looking sick at all when she came home!) and getting a colleague to cover for her. Typically if she were to be going to this rehearsal, she’d be dropping the dog off before setting out. I left around noon and did not see any sign of them. Furthermore, her friends’ house that she’s been staying at is on my way out of the neighborhood, and there was nobody home there at all. She does have a key, so she can come and go as she wishes, but I suspect she was still with the adulterer.

You might be wondering, “what’s up with the title of this post?” Not much, really. I just miss my wife. Whenever she leaves for these weekends and then does not resurface right away I hold out hope that perhaps some sort of problem might have erupted in the adulterous relationship. This is entirely feasible, and if that were the case I don’t necessarily think I’d be the first one to hear of it. At this point, she’d likely go cry to her friends first, the same friends who “support” and “understand” her, and who have encouraged her to go down the path of infidelity and marital oblivion. I can only imagine what those friends will say when that affair goes kablooey, or if it already has, what they might be saying now. They’ll just be standing there with shit all over their faces. Sorry for the vulgar reference, but the situation itself is quite vulgar, and I don’t expect the blow-up and the way it affects those who have been involved in it to be any less vulgar.

The phase that I am currently in with my wife seems to be one of hopeless disengagement. She is trying to take distance from me as much as she can, but she is finding her resources to be getting stretched increasingly thin. She is also facing the reality of commitments that have to be met, and the deadlines for those commitments are rapidly approaching. All of her excuses for not being able to work on those commitments (e.g. the dissertation) are becoming more and more hollow. It just appears to me that she has actually actively begun to spiral out of control. I don’t have much of a factual basis upon which to rest this; my statement is both anecdotal and intuitive. Every time I see her she looks worse. She looks tired, unhappy, and beaten down. She is at times unfriendly if not hostile toward me. She rejects simple acts of kindness and thoughtfulness as though they are some sort of poison or a form of torture. It takes a lot of energy to do that. And it takes even more energy to lead a double life. That’s what she’s doing, though. There is the affair as it is, i.e. a fantasy that inhabits a fragile bubble-world, and then there are her relations with the outside world, which I suspect simply are not coherent. It’s a different story for everyone. Some people are confidants and know the ins and outs or the affair, or at least as much as she’ll divulge. Others are told a more polished version of the story.

And then there’s me. I’m out in the cold on this, by my own choice. She simply does not get to discuss it with me. Others should take that position as well, but they don’t. They listen, even if it makes them uncomfortable. But since I’m central to the whole situation, her inability to be straight with me must make things really insufferable for her. She needs my agreement and approval to do what she does and to lead the kind of life she dreams that she actually could lead, i.e. living with the adulterer out there at Camp Chickenship, playing make-believe. You know, make-believe gardener, make-believe spiritual person, make-believe happy housewife, et cetera.

I honestly just look forward to the time when the bubble bursts and she comes to the realization that that relationship was just a gigantic sham, from the very first contact to the final blow-up. What follows will likely be a difficult and perhaps lengthy process, but a necessary one to rebuild her life. I’m strong enough to handle all that, and that’s important, because I suspect she is not.

Okay, this post has gone on much longer than expected. My heart has grown fonder, and I do long for her to just stop fighting the whole universe and just to come home. It will take a whole lot of humility to do that, but in the end I suspect she won’t have too many alternatives.

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