update from sparkleup

writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/10.html

@@ -16,7 +16,7 @@
 <p>I&rsquo;ve talked about it with my therapist at length<sup id="fnref:therapist"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:therapist">1</a></sup>. We talk about my need to hide behind words as a way of reducing my vulnerability. They become armor, when taken in this sense.</p>
 <p>There&rsquo;s a tension, then, between these two explanations: to put it the way I did at the beginning is to allow words to be a useful tool to define the edges of my emotions and perhaps make them easier to digest and understand in the process.</p>
 <p>To hear Jeremy&rsquo;s suggestion, though, my words are a means by which I might reduce my responsibility to actually feel the emotions I try to define.</p>
-<p>Thus me, sitting here on my lunch break, writing journal entries on my phone.</p>
+<p>Thus me, sitting here on my lunch break, writing journal entries on the steno pad I use in sessions.</p>
 <p>Despite the utility I know there to be within the act of journaling, something which I&rsquo;ve recommended to countless patients of mine, it&rsquo;s never quite something that I&rsquo;ve picked up for myself. I always felt like maybe I was supposed to do something <em>more</em> than just write about what I had done during the day, so I&rsquo;d go off onto long philosophical tangents like this, and then I&rsquo;d start to feel guilty for not writing about what I&rsquo;d done during the day. No matter what, it felt like I was doing something wrong, like I was incorrectly doing the thing I knew how to describe to those who looked to me for instruction.</p>
 <p>When I&rsquo;d brought this fact up to Jeremy, he laughed and called me a &ldquo;fucking nerd&rdquo; and then talked me through what we thought my goals should be:</p>
 <ul>