Some days when I settle down to my diary and my cappuccino I develop a train of thought that seemingly arises out of nowhere, and which holds my attention for long enough to focus my thinking. That is a good thing when you get to my age. My brain normally works at a speed that feels close to that of light, with a fuzz-cloud of words and thoughts that I must will into calming and eventually, hopefully, they will morph into something coherent, and perhaps even vaguely interesting.
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