I met with my therapist yesterday. She had some new fidget toys, those lovely visual flowy ones with the colored water and oil, and when I looked at one, she mentioned that she hadn't yet gotten a close look at them.

I asked about an ongoing issue, she told me how it had been settled. There was a lull, and I laughed and suggested that we sit and look at the new toys and talk about her pretty scarf, we could chat about those for an hour, right? She laughed, and we talked scarves and sales for a few minutes, and she asked if this was what I wanted to talk about, and I laughed and said, "Yes," then sighed and said, "No."

I started by sharing my thought: Doesn't she ever get bored by hearing, "Then he said...and I said...," and my realization that I was curious about that in its own right but also that was a lot about me being bored recounting those stories. It was a lovely conversation because she talked about why she isn't bored by hearing those retellings, feeling honored to listen and looking for the layers and contexts in what she hears.

Then she said, that's kind of a marker. When the client gets "bored" with it, things are changing.

I told some "He said...I said..." stories and we talked about those. I told her about my dreams and we talked about those too.

Then we started talking about lying. As we talked, I realized I was suddenly clenching my jaw so tightly that it ached. So much lying. There's work to be done around that, apparently. This is the piece hovering in my head.