I imagined switching places with her on the couch. She would probably listen to me much better than I’d been listening to her since she entered this fourth floor office eight or ten minutes ago. This was her first session lying down. We’d sat across from each other for about a year, and then she decided to come once more a week and lie down on the couch. A sentence repeated itself in my mind: this was also my first day. In less than three hours I would be seated in a coffee shop, across from a writing friend, writing about whatever theme we’d decided on. I didn’t want to wait until we met to decide. I wanted to know now. Five or seven different possible themes appeared and disappeared. I was also listening to her. She was speaking about the experience on the couch, how different it was from sitting across from me. Without realizing it, my mind had become void of images or words related to writing. Listening was my spontaneous work of the moment, free-associating to the constant flow of words and images in my mind as I listened to her. The image of switching places with her seemed important. I wanted to let go mentally, as she appeared to be doing on the couch. I wanted to be like her. All of this was important. There was so much to be aware of while listening to her words. This was what working with the mind was like.