Some strange thoughts have arrived and then left. Something tells me they’ll be back. Last night was unusual. I was home alone, and when sleep wouldn’t come, I watched an episode of a television series that I probably hadn’t seen or thought about in a decade. More sentences will have to wait until this afternoon. Fifty minutes on the couch and then a work meeting await me. In reality, the meeting happened first. I don’t attend many meetings, so I was unsure what to expect. The news was good: I’ll soon start editing articles that interest me, which reminds me of the television episode that I watched last night. A writer was unhappy with what he was writing. He was on an airplane and felt trapped in both a physical and mental space. Then an image of himself writing on his laptop arrived. Without thinking about what he was doing, he took a book from his carry-on bag and found himself immersed immediately in the world of the narrator’s mind, which happened to me during this morning’s session on the couch. I became immersed in my own mind. It was disorientating. I heard myself say strange things. The fifty-minute hour ended. I didn’t want unusual things in my mind, as if I had a choice. My mind often feels filled with unusual things while I write. I’m in psychoanalysis to explore my mind. I’m exploring it right now, in these sentences, or that’s what comes to me. This writing work has felt strange, which sounds about right for writing.