Divorcing

sky...Leaving New York this morning. The Pan Am flight ticket to Paris, return open, on the table. Awake, packing toothbrush, comb, pills; check passport; call to find out when the bus...disconcerting how the urgencies of dream and waking life correspond. At home in neither. The one who got up no more myself than the one dreaming.
Because I’m not awake yet?...Not truly awake. Of course, she thinks, going out on the street to hail a cab. And what presumption to expect in this life to be perfectly awake. In the taxi she recalls with a tinge of regret the tantalizing colors of the roll of tickets in the conductor’s bag, the anguish of abandoned dream places lingers on, the scene left mysteriously, will-lessly...The irrelevance.
Seat belt fastened, watch the handsome high-tailed jets skate slowly and stately to cocktail-hour music.