I did something interesting when I was writing a tiny story last night. I wrote a different ending to something I had done.
Some months ago Nola was very upset when we found a mouse drowned in a bucket of water on our balcony. She wanted to take the mouse to the park and bury it. I said 'no'. Yesterday evening I discovered I had written a story where the mother says 'yes'. Okay, the mouse had become a pet mouse, so there were emotions attached, but I'm curious about the jump I made. Curious about the bit of me that obviously wanted to say 'yes' in the first place.
The mouse, as dead as it was, had clearly been storing itself up.