His story repeats itself...

In 5 days, my wife leaves for Florida. She has taken a job in a production near Ft. Myers which will keep her abroad for just over 6 weeks. This is the same theater she worked at about one year and a half ago, so it is familiar ground, both to her and to me. One of her biggest concerns with leaving is that I tend to become 'distant' after being by myself for long periods of time. [Anyone who knew me as a child can probably attest to the fact that, when in my head, I'm not really anywhere else, regardless of who else is around]. One of my biggest concerns with her leaving is that I don't really have any big concerns. On the surface, this is not such a bad thing. I'm playing the role of supportive husband, sending her off to be famous in another small pocket of the world. Truth is, I really do want to be supportive. Aside from writing, I experience little deep pleasure in this world. For her, the only true pleasure is performing. How could I knowingly stifle that? I think the issue is that I take her leaving as an opportunity to be selfish, to not connect, to micromanage my home and my life in a way that simply cannot be done while another warm body is present. That's probably not so ideal. But, we've discussed it. She knows me. Better, as they say, than I know myself. Or at least than I am willing to concede I do. So, we shall work it out. I'll call her, call friends, be the initiator of contact. The alternative is not so pretty. One week to myself and I become HAL 9000. 6+ weeks and...they haven't really made a movie about that yet.
As a final thought, I will mention that I was finally able to get into the Olympics a bit. Like any contest you follow, you tend to find people or at least qualities in people that you root for. This I was able to do. I still don't get curling, though. I'm told it's a game of strategy, where you must think ahead about 5 moves. I understand such things--I was a chess club kid in high school. Surprise. So, maybe in four years, as athletes compete in the former Soviet Union (where I hope the masturbatory anthem will be shortened, for the love of St. Petersburg), I may just find myself addicted to a new sport, instead of perpetually taking it for granite...