For one thing, from the deepest recesses of my grade school brain, I could remember enough of the word cotyledon to spell it well enough for Google to guess the right word. (I love it when that happens! Like a dictionary you just have to think at, and it opens to the right page.)
But for another thing, I started here, with this, and I just keep writing. I think it's turning itself into a story. (That's a "story" but not with a "plot." Thanks, Mr. JustSendOneThing.) Something has happened. It really does feel like I've gone from being inside of something to drawing life energy from it instead. I think I've sprouted.
And I think I can remember this process from a long, long time ago, when I was a child and learned some new skill that was part of being older now. I think this is the same thing. Whatever it is, it happens while everything outside of me continues as normal. Nothing looks different to anyone else. They're all talking to me as if they can't see what's happening, so I don't think they can see it. But it is happening. The world looks more dreamlike to me again ... only this time I am not afraid.