Sex and the City Dreams

Almost every day, approximately around three/four o'clock and lasting until about six o'clock, there are reruns of Sex and the City on television.

Carrie Bradshaw and I have an intimate relationship.  I can sit on any couch, any chair, any bed with a television and watch reruns of her televised romances, facades, failures, and friendships.  She is a character that has become an extension of myself - the self that, for whatever reason, is living ahead of its time and wanting things that maybe a twenty/thirty/forty-something woman or man would want (I can't say which one, because my psychological gender identity is completely unknown to me at this point, but for the point of this story, I'll just say that I vastly prefer identifying with an older woman than with an older man.)

So, with all of my busy affairs, color me shocked that I have the time to turn on the television and watch it again.

Time is relative.  The actuality is that I have finally given in, finally said that I can do these small things for myself, finally said that I need recovery.

Escapism is one of the best things in the world.

Yesterday, I was tired.  Trucks had passed over me.  Scratches and bruises covered my psyche.  They built up over the months, and I took the time to say that I needed to recuperate.

I watched Sex and the City.  There is something about returning to a television show like this.  It's having lunch with the girls; drinking coffee in the winter air; cuddling up with a blanket and letting yourself go.  I fell asleep as Carrie Bradshaw was waiting, longing for Alexander Petrovski in a Parisian hotel, a couture gown spread around her as she slept off the hours spent on a flight crossing the Atlantic, leaving herself behind.

There's odd poetic justice in it, and those types of moments are why I appreciate Sex and the City.  Falling asleep as Carrie did, appreciating the Parisian noir, the sadness, the drama, and longing for a man that she didn't really want and the person that she really did.

With my bits of free time, I think I will spend time watching this show again.  Reliving these moments that I hold dear to my heart.  The fact that still - still - I cry at this last episode tells me something.  There is power in this emotion.  The directing and the characters have stolen me away; I live to be stolen right now, to escape into a book, into Sex and the City, and relive the moments that have given me hope and have helped me become who I am.  

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