Trophy Wife in a Bubble

As hard it seems to let go of some things, letting go of the life outside my front door seems pretty easy. It kind of scares me how simple it is to detach from the world when there's no job for me to go to. It's strange that not leaving the apartment and watching hours of "Lost" makes sense in some weird way. And the more it goes on, the more the world seems like some unfamiliar, scary place... and it's harder to step out that door.
It's been a while since time without a job stretched out endlessly before me. I can't even remember the last time and what I did. I do know that circumstances have changed this time. Before I had no one to answer to but myself. The days would begin and end without me having to hear another voice, but these days there's someone else in the apartment with me. He has to deal with the opposite of what I do, not just work, but lots of work. I wonder what I would think of myself if I were him. Would I make the judgments I already do?
I went to a birthday party last Saturday. It was a low-key dinner comprised mostly of people I don't know. After she got her dessert, the birthday girl went around and toasted all her friends that were there. She mostly mentioned people skills or talents or jobs or drives, but when it came to me, the reference was to me being a "trophy wife." It was like a nightmare come true: that I'm not the only one who things horrible things about myself. She may have thought it was cute or offhand, but the statement stuck with me. What's even more daunting is that I don't know how to make it untrue. As I've just said, it seems I'm at my best sitting at home being that person.
I guess that's life in the bubble, to be able to see things and not touch them, to have a view on the world that's slightly askew. Maybe I should be satisfied that at least I am a trophy wife and not some raving lunatic on the street.