It's an interesting observation I made about myself and suspect many other have done the same thing: How much we feel dependent on our WAS once discovered and how detached we were before. If fact, it was probably that detachment (but detachment without being "lovingly supportive") that got us into this predicament in the first place.
Come on guys, how many of you relished those Sunday afternoons when our wives would be out all day and the longer, the better, so we could watch Petyton Manning or Shaun Alexander in peace, or play Doom 3 in the study, or whack off to internet porn in the basement, or whatever self-gratifying waste of time we choose for ourselves. For the longest time, the most anxious I ever got was concerned over the longer she was gone, the more worried I got about how big the stack of credit card reciepts would be when she returned.
But the moment we see it slipping away, it's kind of hard to make it to even halftime without fretting about where she is, when she'll be home. It's kind of hard to enjoy any kind of moment to ourselves (which we DO deserve as long as it's not excessive and to the point of being neglectful) any more.
The knowledge alone can make the same "aloneness" that we once cherished unbearable.
"She hasn't called me yet...."
Now all of a sudden the game doesn't seem so important, and we want to do things with her, something she probably wanted for many years.
Crow Jane, Crow Jane, come 'on, I wanna know,
how you love some man, but don't love me no mo'
