Yesterday, at 2:30 AM, I sat at the piano, composing, composing, and composing. I lasted until 5:30 (which is the time a lot of my friends actually get up for the day) and go lie on the couch.
At 7:30, I bolt upright, and trudge back to the piano. What can I say? When the thought hits, you run with it.
From the master bedroom (at the end of the house), I hear a faint voice. It’s the husband calling, “Is that you?”
Me, thinking, Duh, who else would it be? I’m the only one living with you, buddy. Out loud, I yell, “What?”
Ken, louder, “Is that you?”
Me, confused, I run to the bedroom. “Of course, it’s me.”
Ken—with the patience of Job this week in spite of all the chaos of my sudden late-night, early morning creativity happening—says softly, “Mer, is that new?”
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