I don’t enjoy the way the therapist fixes me with her unblinking gaze. She seems to want to urge me to undertake a search and reconstruction of myself such as the one she herself is attempting. When I think of her ugly clothes and the quite stunning, almost deathly ugliness of the inside of her house I shiver. She is trying to get me to face the most difficult area in myself. I don’t have the courage to do it. Not now, anyway. Thinking about it is like contemplating a mountain range in winter.