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May 17, 2011

It is late.
It's always late
when I sit down to enjoy the quiet of a house being cooled down by ceiling fans
and an air-conditioner that pops and cracks like ghostly knees and ankles
crouching outside my bedroom window.

The kids are asleep, the dog is asleep, my husband is asleep
I should be asleep
But it is late
And it is quiet
And if I close my eyes I can pretend the traffic noise seeping through my window
between the knee and ankle pops of the air-conditioner
is really the beach
beckoning to me to relax
to realize my shoulders should not actually touch my ears
especially when it is quiet
and late
and everyone is sleeping
but me.

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