Tall people don’t like my office.
There has been limited headroom.
Which is funny considering that it’s a therapy office.
Perhaps I merely specialize in serving the short.
Short temper. Short patience. Short nerves. Short twitch anxious. Short cut to depression.
And merely not so tall people like myself.
This has been the case not due to a low ceiling.
I have surfboards hanging from the ceiling.
I used to have many hanging in my space here. Now there are merely three, a number I’d like to see become two.
The boards used to hang from strings tied to eyehooks. I took all of that down. Now there are no open spaces lacking boards.
Now there are no boards stealing my dreams.
Instead of imagining waves that I’m not surfing, I’m imagining jokes. Instead of looking at weather forecasts and counting down the days, all of that mental space has been set free to do other things.
I was obsessed with surfing.
That’s not the case any more.
I had boards that I used to ride only two or three times a year. I would…
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