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September 18, 2014
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The outburst


“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it,” I say. “I have to write a column tonight so I’m going to go work on that.”

“I brought home dinner,” she said shortly. “Maybe you will feel better once you eat.”

“That must be it.”

I was seeing red for the next 15 minutes as I ate a little Italian food alone and had a glass of wine. I was still muttering under my breath as my mind spun various kinds of vitriol, when I started to level out. I realized I hadn’t eaten since a very light and early lunch.

A few minutes later I apologized to Emily. She sighed dramatically and then let me off the hook. Gave me a big hug.

“I don’t know where you get the patience,” I said.

“Me neither,” she said, and we both laugh.

“What do you think I should write about?”

“Your outburst. I like it when you write, when you’re honest.”

“Not sure I can write honestly about that. I’d have to leave out XXXXXXX and XXXX.”

“I don’t think you’d have to leave it out, but I know you will.”