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  • Of course I want to wake the husband as he’s pawing the wall to tell him how funny he looks pawing the wall, once I realize he’s asleep. But he keeps pawing or grabbing or maybe he’s petting and I start to worry. What are you doing? I ask, and then, are you OK? He looks at me like what the hell? And I think he’s awake and then he’s back communing with that particular strip of Glidden or Behr or Benjamin Moore natural sage. I’m . . . coffee, he says stroking the two-dimensional rectangle of green. And of course it’s coffee because that’s what he does. But then he’s confused by the wall, there’s a wall! And, I have to go to the bathroom he says charging past me. He returns in a bit and he’s his own traffic circle now and off down the hall. Where? I start but his eyes accuse. And he says, I have to go. He’s at top of the stairs and leans over and clucks, and I imagine he spreads his wing arms, and then he’s off and running back to bed. Moments later, he’s snoring, and I wonder, was it I who was dreaming?
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