This is the post excerpt.

I write here because writing is my way of settling down, of finding a comfort zone. Many years ago I learned how to type on a manual typewriter. Pressing keys down hard enough to make a metal bar fling itself upward and hit against paper takes effort. Maybe that concentrated effort is what made finger muscles connect to brain so strongly that ever afterwards I have found myself mentally typing out thoughts. Sometimes my fingers actually start moving. It’s a disconcerting habit, one that makes me feel that I’m not genuinely thinking, but am instead always trying to write. Always. I lose the sense of the thought as I begin to decide best wording, where punctuation should go, etc.