I have a problem with writing. It started on a particular day, seven years ago. That day everything changed somehow and all the changes were of the utmost importance. I had to record them. One day I noticed that I was crouched on the floor of a bathroom in the building where I worked as a neurologist, writing on toilet paper because the idea couldn't wait until I got back to my office. When there was no paper, I wrote on my forearms. As my ideas got more intense, I even wrote on myself while I was driving. The change in my writing came 10 days after I gave birth prematurely to twin boys, who died. They were so small - one held my finger before he died, and his hand hardly fitted around it. For nine days my grief was "appropriate". On the tenth, I woke wildly excited, filled with hundreds of ideas pressing to be written down.
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