"On a scale of..?"
"Hmm. On a scale of one to a hundred."
I thought a moment. "I'd say about sixty-eight percent of me wants to break something, drink to oblivion, and wake up once they've found a cure for life."
"Is that better or worse than you'd expected?" she asked.
"It's better, actually," I lied. "But not by much."
"You're completely full of shit," she said.
"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm also a little irrational. It'll pass."
"It had better."
"Call me tomorrow, Muse," I said. "And please don't use a cellphone. I know you hate them as much as I do."
"Sorry," she said. "It was the only phone he had."
"Goodnight, Muse," I said, and hung up.
