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October 23, 2001
I hang up the phone. Pissed at what I just heard. Angry that I’m too tired for his interruption. Of the crap he says. We’re polar opposites. He must love pushing my buttons. His late-night chat turns into a partisan diatribe at the evils of a President.

My impatience spirals out of control.

Hanging up solves almost everything. He’s gone. I can close my eyes again. Won’t have to listen to his ramblings. Except they still spin wildly inside my head. I argue all over again. Things I should have said. Wanted to say. And will, at the next opportunity.