AN IMPRECISE SCIENCE
Karen had come out to the small waiting room, introduced herself, and shook my hand. She had led me into her office that contained a large, wooden, wrap-around desk; plaques on the walls; pictures of family; a table with a couple chairs; a sofa; an armchair; ample lighting; soft colors; and plenty of quiet. I chose to sit in the armchair, not directly facing the sofa, but about 45 degrees off. The sofa, though it looked comfortable with two fluffy, fuzzy pillows, was a bit too psychoanalytic; I might have felt the need to lie down. Conveniently, the angle of the furniture meant that if I stared straight ahead, I would be looking at a wall, or an end-table with toys on it, toys mostly blocking the small analog clock. “What makes you think that you need fixing?� she asks.
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