I'm in that twilight zone of illness recovery where the brain is starting to fire at quite a high speed, but the normal inhibitions on what gets typed don't fully seem to be in place. Like a car driving down a dirt road at Blackheath towards Pulpit Rock at "twice the speed of lead" (to quote the 2JJ surrealist adventure What's Rangoon to you is Grafton to me), except there's a bolt loose on the power steering.
This is a very dangerous time to sit me down in front of a computer screen.
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