(or Why I Hate the Buzzer)
I hate the therapy buzzer. There, I said it.
Nothing quite says “time’s up” like the disruptive sound of a buzzer. Wrap it up, move along, the next person is waiting.
My therapist is terrible at keeping time. This is kind of a liability for a therapist.
I noticed the absence of any clock in her office the first time we met. Most therapists seem to have at least two – one for them, one for you.
I asked her about this: “Are you the keeper of the time?” To which she replied, “I am the Time Keeper!”
Frankly, I’m relieved that there is no clock in sight. It takes the pressure off.
However, I don’t think she answered the question fairly. It is her job to keep track of time, but she’s so bad at it, she really could use some help.
Time seems to be such a part of the therapy frame. 45 minutes. Not a minute more or less. It’s the part of the frame that I most struggle with, the part that I rail against the most.
the unSecret Garden 