I believe there is a point in every woman’s life in which she can no longer distinguish the difference between what is happening in reality and what is part of her dreams. Often the confusion is relatively benign–did I actually have that conversation with my husband and did I really see that person at the grocery store last week? Occasionally, the situation is a bit more distressing. I have woken up several times genuinely peeved with my husband about something that he did–how dare he go on a professional acting tour and not take me with him to the Emmy’s! And I can’t even tell you how furious I was with my sister after she had her affair with President Obama. I myself have done some pretty exciting things–living in Mad Men‘s Peter Campbell’s Manhattan apartment in the 1960s was very trendy, and who would have thought that I would go on a month-long spelunking trip with my BFF?? (I’m pretty sure this last one was made-up as I’m severely clastrophobic, and unless someone’s been feeding me fake calendars, I am thinking the 1960s life was too…) The downside to this indistinguishable reality? I have very little idea of what is actually happening in my own life (but maybe this isn’t so bad?). It’s also possible that some of my anger to those near and dear to me is invalid. The upside? Seriously, how much cooler am I with these experiences? And since I’m not entirely sure they are indeed surreal, this is an amazing confidence boost. I say, go ahead and lose a little touch with reality today 🙂
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