The few minutes I had to create word wisdom on my iPad felt like a lifetime. An image of my narrator had come to me moments earlier, as I entered this building. Instead of using the restroom as I’d planned, I sat down in the nearest chair in the waiting room, removed my iPad from its bag, and waited for words to come. Somehow, I knew they wouldn’t disappoint me. The phrase word wisdom in the opening sentence surprised me as I wrote it. I’d intended to write noise. I was afraid that my typing would sound like noise to the others waiting to see their psychotherapists. Word wisdom, as it appeared on the screen, was new to me. It was the opposite of noise. An image of my narrator came to me, as I sat with my iPad on my lap, waiting for words, and he was also in a waiting room, to see his therapist, and I imagined his mind full of noise. My narrator thought of it as mental noise. His mental pain was real to me. My mind was real to me as I wrote these sentences in the waiting room, before the few minutes were up.