They encourage us to write. To our first loves, to our cats, to our mothers, to the ocean, to ourselves (if we feel really brave).
I choose my therapist.
My therapist has a beautiful engagement ring. She began today’s session by complimenting my knitted sweater. I told her that it’s my cloud sweater and that I like it a lot too. My therapist spent 10 weeks living in that city by the mountains when she was younger. So she gets it. She says she can call me if I don’t have the energy to come in to her office. She comes up with analogies of houses and rooms, filled with different relationships. She lets me talk about Leonard Cohen and ghosts and Frank O’Hara in the same breath. I talk forever and she never interrupts. She told me that she’s proud of me, made a new appointment next week.
Obviously, I will never ever let her know that she is my secret hero. That’s why it’s in third person.
Have you also felt a little brittle lately? Have you also written serenades on the back of your hand?