I find myself sitting before the glowing screen of my laptop after midnight yet again. For once, it is not my daughter keeping me awake all hours of the night. For the first time in almost a week Evelyn is sleeping like the sweet little angel she is.
No, tonight I find myself awake, scrolling through web-pages and blogs searching for something. Some kind of a connection. Something to bring me back to where I belong.
I just finished watching Eat, Pray, Love and found myself trying to clothe my wounds in her words. To associate, to turn my own failed marriage, and heartbreak into hers. And then, I watched Sex in the City 2 and found myself trying to characterize the men in my life along with Carrie's. Who is my Mr. Big? Who would be my Aiden?
It's disheartening. This need I have to imitate art. Art is suppose to imitate life. Not the other way around. Perhaps I am just desperately seeking answers, seeking solutions. If I do what they do, if I say what they say, if I make my life into theirs then perhaps for a fleeting moment it will all make sense and as I feel the approach of the closing credits my Happy Ever After will be waiting in a black Lincoln down stairs. My salvation will be a medicine man in Bali, leading me through meditation and allowing me to find my own means of prayer.
But like they say, that stuff only happens in the movies.
It's not real. In reality Julia Roberts is happily married with twins. And Sarah Jessica Parker... happily married as well.
I think I just ruined my point.
Maybe the unhappiness is just in me.
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