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Show Dreamer," she i£ saying, with a cheer not normally found in one whose deep sleep has be^n-soLGidgl^krteiTupted the night before. I am relieved that she has even come to the phone. "Are you feeling better today?" "I am so sorry," I start, but she is cutting me off. "Don't even think about it. Happens all the time." I am just sure, I am telling her, that she has hundreds of her patients calling her up in the middle ofthe night, telling her that they have had exclusive paranormal access to her foreshortened future through her telephone lines, thirty miles away. "No, I mean I get telephone calls every night," she is saying. "If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else." Even though I know better, it is somehow reassuring to think that my calling replaced someone else's, who, because I called, then had no need of calling. "Have you ever heard of drug psychosis?" she is asking. Great. I am psychotic. She is laughing her hearty laugh, her from-the-gut laugh and I realize she is not going to mock me in any way. "Boy, when you get something, you really get it!" she is saying and suddenly I am laughing too. But my laughter is coming out all choking and stuffy now and I realize I am not laughing any- |