Just like that, my slow mood moved away. I just had to sit at my writing desk, dig into some drafts, and get lost in making the work more concise, more chiseled, removing “I” as much as ego would allow. Almost two hours later, I’ve either forgotten what put me in that mood in the first place or dealt with it, and learned from it, and will use it the way a nudibranch uses its opponent’s poison against others — incorporating it into its vastly glowing arsenal of stolen weapons, to be used or not.