It was a nightmare, said Miss Blankenship, wearing those divinely ridiculous goggles, of her traumatic surgery. I was blind. And now I see.
It's June 15, a few weeks after Don's amazing night of healing and grace. The episode opened with him standing alone at the ledge of a pool. (I wonder how many men will consider taking up swimming after this cleanser of an hour.) A lap left Don's battered lungs in an uproar, but he looked blissfully spent at the end of his workout. When he emerged from the gym it was as if he had regained his senses for the first time since Betty kicked him out. The light was deliciously harsh, the sound of the Stones wonderfully rough on the ears. The smell of summer, corn!, was in the air. As good it was to see Don wash himself clean in the pool, it was almost more encouraging to see those bare feet under his writing table. Don finally looked calm and comfortable in his own skin, daring to put some of his headspace down on the page. I'm trying to gain a modicum of control over the way I feel, he wrote. I want to wake up. I don't want to be that man.
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