It is two 'o clock at night and I am not sleepy. Perhaps because in the last one year, I have hardly slept before dawn. I have been reading, I have been writing, I have been working hard, sometimes all through the night. And after a hard night, sleep does not take long to come by. Tonight I do not want to write, or read though. I want to talk to someone, a friend may be. But all my friends have their own lives to run, their own loneliness to battle, their own problems to solve, besides who wants to talk to a sad woman in the dead of the night?
But why should I be lonely -- or sad? I have two lovely children sleeping right next to me, their faces glowing in the faint yellow light. I also have a husband -- perhaps the best I could ever have -- who loves me and supports me in all I do and want to do. I have a handful of friends too who are supposedly just a phone call away, and then I have a wonderful family. And yet I am alone.
The life of a woman is almost always lonely. On the face of it she is always busy running the house, raising the children, supporting the husband, but within she is often an island standing alone in the middle of the ocean waiting for someone to lose his way and find her. But with so much technology at every one's fingertips, hardly anyone ever looses way or finds the island, those who do, have to eventually return. And so the island waits, sometimes all her life.
It is strange though, at least for me for I have always enjoyed being alone. Having lived in a house full of people, I would look forward to the peace and quiet of an empty house, when I could do what I liked and be who I wanted. I enjoyed my time alone, even though for just a few hours. The solitude would made me feel powerful, in control of myself and my surroundings. The same solitude that now makes me cringe, especially on nights such as this. When I have no one but my tired old laptop for company.