Snow today. And a fierce desire to write in a hundred places. I will shovel. I will take the boys out and we will get cold and we will come in for cocoa. And then read, and then write.
I am copying some correspondence into a notebook. By hand.
A fierce desire to write by hand, and on computer, yes. A hundred different ways to write. Upon the insides of the skull.
I am split. Why not write the split?
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