Jot down the details of your wall or whatever stands between you and the page. Close your eyes and envision it. Maybe it’s a real wall you see—gray, thick and impenetrable. Or maybe it’s a voice you hear—a teacher or a parent, or possibly your own voice. Take a deep breath and don’t think—go for five minutes.
My wall is made of spices, they’re disorganized and I need to alphabetize them. Right now. It’s the pantry. Perhaps this hour I have free is the best time to go through everything and look at which canned goods are expired. The wall is stacked with cookbooks and recipes for the baby; she’s starting to eat and I absolutely have to make those baby led weaning meatballs right now. There are also peppers. I don’t want them to go to waste. My wall is making a frittata. There is paperwork that needs to be filed sprinkled amongst the books that need to be read.
My journal has many entries that start with one line and then abruptly end like, “Had a good therapy session today”
I have no recollection what that therapy session was about.
