Day 1, post (actual) move-out

I arrived home last night to an emptier house. She had indeed brought the movers in, and they hauled her stuff out. Not all of it, but a lot, maybe 70%. Three big pieces of furniture, and all her boxes.

I’ve heard a number of stories of obstinate spouses who separate and move out. The stories are never pretty. Such spouses often are destructive. They show tremendous disregard and insensitivity toward those they leave behind. There is a remarkable edge of cruelty to their behavior, as though they want to punish their spouses for what they perceive to be their failed married lives.

Folks, this is bad karma when people behave in this way. Bad karma is never rewarded with positivity. It always manifests at some point in some negative fashion. It’s not a tit-for-tat situation, and the effect could be delayed years, if not (in some philosophical views, at least) lifetimes. Its manifestation could be minimized through virtuous activity, or it could be intensified through non-virtuous, hurtful actions. The obstinate and/or wayward spouse creates an inordinate amount of bad karma, every day, for months on end. So it is with my wife.

But she’s not all bad, you know. I know the virtue that lies deep within her, inside that truly tender and beautiful heart of hers, that heart that currently is encased in steel. That heart is too vast and beautiful truly to be limited by such encasement. It peeks out here and there, gushes out in unguarded moments, and even explodes out at times. I’ve seen all of these things in the past five and a half months.

Yesterday my wife left this house. She did and said everything she could to try to quash my hope. But, as I said before, hope only dies if you kill it. My hope is still alive. It fuels my passion and gives me drive to continue to do all the right things, despite all of the actions my wife might take to try to discourage me. I have the power of the universe behind me, the universal power, the power of love. That is a power that is truly unstoppable.

There were anomalies in her departure. I arrived home and found an empty house, but I also found a clean house. She had done the dishes and vacuumed the floors. She texted to thank me for the leftovers I had instructed her to eat. Then, oddest of all, she neatly, carefully, and thoughtfully arranged my belongings on the furniture that she had left behind. She had turned our dining room table into a sort of desk, moving it into the wall underneath a wind. She placed bookends on the desk, and neatly lined up several books. She placed my pens neatly to the right side next to paper and other writing materials. She placed a plant and display of flowers (which I had bought) on the left side of the table. In the middle of the table, she placed photos that I had received from my sister of my niece and nephews. These were not haphazardly placed, either: they were very neatly and tastefully arranged, almost like a rainbow, with careful attention to detail. In the bedroom, she had removed the dresser and some things from the wall, but had placed several pictures on the one dresser that remained. In her office, she had taken out her desk and bookshelf, but had placed flowers and several pictures (which I had given her) on the piano. It was as if she was saying that she had to go now, for a time, but that she really still cared. And then this morning, out of nowhere, she sends me an email with no text other than a link to a webcam live stream of nesting bald eagles. I have no explanation for this, apart from the fact that she must have seen this (possibly with the adulterer) and thought I’d appreciate it.

Well, of course she does care. Any spouse that puts up a fight actually does care. If they didn’t care, you’d just get the cold shoulder and never hear from them again. This is where it gets even more interesting. In our conversation yesterday, she said a number of things that totally gave away her game plan. She told me there was no hope, and that she would not be coming back. That, of course, is adultery-speak, fueled by the dopamine-addict’s affair-fog addled mind. She told me she had found an apartment, but would not tell me where she’d be moving. She’d keep that a secret for a time. She also accused me of threatening her. This was not the first time I’d heard this, by the way. I’ve never given this woman a threat in my entire life. So what exactly did she perceive as me threatening her? Simple: I just said that I still believed in us and our marriage. From her point of view, that’s a threat, and probably the most severe threat that anyone could deliver to her. Her entire future, the survival of the absurd fairy tale she thinks she can make real, depends on me going away and agreeing to her agenda. She doesn’t want to have to end our relationship without my consent. I’m just not going to give that consent, not now, not ever. Why? Because she has made absolutely no effort to work with me to solve our issues, as is her responsibility (i.e. per her promise to me through our wedding vows). She just wants an easy out, a painless escape, a simple chance to run away from it all, to leave that horrible villain in her story (me) and live happily ever after with Prince Charming (the adulterer).

Of course this is nonsense. Prince Charming does not pray on married ladies in fairy tales, nor does he do that in real life.
But sick, emotionally immature, morally retarded, and terribly lonely middle-aged perverts do. That’s what she found: a pervert cum sycophant who temporarily makes her feel good, if not “perfect.” At some point, the real world intrudes. The dog takes a shit on his carpet for the 25th time and foul words are uttered that are truly hurtful and shocking to the owner of that dog. (This could happen — our dog never did this before this crisis erupted, and since then she’s been an indoor shitting machine.) The pervert’s spiritual “mentor” gives an ultimatum because his mentee is bringing potential scandal to his shrine. The abandoning spouse gets read the riot act by her advisor for not attempting to complete her doctoral dissertation. Or maybe something else.

Does this sound far-fetched? I think not. The real world has begun to speak, and quite swiftly at that. It is beginning to speak in ways that I could not have anticipated. I had a full day of teaching today, and two of my colleagues inquired about my wife. They have no idea of our situation. I just don’t talk about it with anyone, since it’s not their business. I attempted to be truthful to them without giving too much information. Then a student approached me to ask if my wife had deleted her Facebook account. He was one of her “friends,” and apparently is no more. I suspect he got defriended and blocked, as likely have many others, myself included. I told him that I had no idea, since I don’t really visit Facebook anymore. He seemed to have been a bit upset by her disappearance. Another colleague emailed to ask me how my wife was doing, and to inquire as to whether she might be available for some work in a couple of months. I avoided answering that question. I’m sure there will be many more such ways in which the real world will speak, and when it speaks into my wife’s life it will be truly powerful — powerful enough to blast the walls of perfidy wide open.

Until then, I simply persevere.

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