Write he said

(A guest post from my wife)
Write he said. Three words, very simple.
Do you have any idea what those three words are hiding? No you don't. Me neither. The longer I wax questioning about the comment, the longer I can skirt its meaning. It's like the cockroach in the middle of the room that I keep walking around, hoping that at some point it'll blend into the wood.

Okay, I'll stop. Let's start here. Writing is a form of communication - usually putting thoughts down in words. So let's talk about the plug in my throat.
It's a perfect fit, I can feel it now. It's not altogether comfortable. My throat feels constricted, but at least that saves me from feeling free or being able to swallow or breathe properly. Yes okay, at least I don't have to feel exposed. Exposed to all the vultures who'd like to peck through my ribcage into my flesh.That's too raw.

As an aside, my therapist supported the astrologer. Your whole perspective of me has changed now - hasn't it? Mine too. White, middle-aged, middle class woman who's stuck in the middle sampling possibility of an experience that'll make me thrum. The point is this - I'm sitting here writing but I am not thrumming. Actually I think it is an arbitrary thing to be doing on a Friday morning. My therapist warned me this would happen too. He told me I would sabotage the process. Don't you love these self deflating bootstraps!