(I hate being sick. I have all these words that I want to come out of my fingert

(I hate being sick. I have all these words that I want to come out of my fingertips, but they just stay inside, floating like Cheerio’s in milk, perfectly content to remain where they are. I’ve actually forgotten what it’s like not to have something I want or need to write about. What do normal people do with themselves? What do they think about if they don’t write?)