But my problem had been de-clawed, I realized. There was nothing medically wrong with me, and that was a burden lifted, one that I hoped would increase the quality, if not the quantity, of my sleep. I worried about Zoe though. The lack of a definitive problem would make my reluctance to move in together just that. She'd already renewed her apartment lease for another year, but was clearly pained at having to do so. We'd agreed to move in together after her new lease was up, but we both knew it was a weak consolation.
When I called to relay my prognosis, however, I was reminded why I loved Zoe, why I was lucky she tolerated me. "I knew it," she exclaimed, when I gave her the news. "Not that it matters. I fall asleep before you anyway."
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