Aches and words

Not sick, but not exactly well-feeling, and though my head was full of words on the train, they aren’t flowing now that I’m actually sitting down. Sometimes getting carried away by the story can take my mind off random ills, and sometimes not.

It’s frustrating though, because I’ve got a scene in my mind: Taiver by the fire, carving a hunk of wood, the soft-hard feel of it in his hands. A conversation with his sister.

And then the random pain digs in and the words go away.

I think I’ll see if I can’t lie in bed and scribble things on paper.

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