Tonight my wife Catherine and I went to Pottery Barn to buy two white panel curtains that I’ll later hang in her office using my drill, a screw driver, a pencil, a level, and a step-ladder. When we arrived home at around 8 p.m. I made myself a martini, which I sipped at the dining room table while Cat warmed us both up some soup. We enjoyed our soup while sitting in front of our big TV watching “Indiscreet,” starring Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. About 10:30 I got tired, and went off to bed.
But now I can’t sleep. And the haunting thought that’s keeping me awake?
When—oh, God, when??— did I become my father?
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