The couch was occupied. It was his for fifty minutes. I wasn’t listening. Where did that come from? What else was I doing? I was glancing at the dark clouds outside. December was in its second week. I was two days from a week away from all of this. Why was this a troubling thought? I would miss the couch, this patient, all of this. It’s my life. He’s the couch’s only occupant. He’s my patient in a control case. I’m training to be a psychoanalyst. I keep telling myself I’m not in a hurry, and that my training will last as long as it needs to. I’ll be back before Christmas. Was the patient also in a hurry, in his mind? These fifty minutes were reality, in the here and now. I imagined that both of our unconscious minds preferred to hurry, away from these moments, between us. My week away remained far away, in my mind, in our minds, in this moment.