Four ideas or images demand verbal representation simultaneously. My narrator seems in a hurry this morning. We’re in this together. He tells me that we’re in my psychoanalyst’s office, or in the waiting area, wondering what might happen once I reach the couch and wait for words to start leaving my mouth. Dissociation is an uncomfortable state of mind for me. Two of us are writing these sentences and imagining an experience in Sarah’s downtown Seattle office. Or should the psychoanalyst be a man, Martin, who’s also been part of these narratives? Don’t forget that you’re in four places at once, my narrator whispers in my ear. This experience has disorientated me. I don’t want to focus on four things at once. I imagine arriving on the couch and uttering these words before Sarah can become comfortable in her chair behind me. In reality, mental confusion is not unfamiliar to me. Writing sometimes demands it. Speaking on the couch, trying to say whatever comes to mind, with Sarah or Martin listening behind me, often leads me to wonder whether confusion isn’t part of how the mind works. My narrator reminds me that I’ve yet to mention the four ideas or images that introduced themselves in the opening sentence. They’ll have to wait, I hear myself respond. I’m not in a hurry, for now.