From 6ac9199640fb916efdfbcd93502c71e3bdc0460b Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Fri, 10 May 2024 21:30:04 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/idumea/003.md | 2 +- 1 file changed, 1 insertion(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/writing/post-self/idumea/003.md b/writing/post-self/idumea/003.md index 7d7c43a3..5434d8f5 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/idumea/003.md +++ b/writing/post-self/idumea/003.md @@ -28,4 +28,4 @@ The Woman did all that she could to hang onto joy whenever it slipped into her l But even like me with my little tasty baked treats, The Woman's joy is parceled out bit by bit to herself and her cocladists and, just like my little plates of carrot cake — I *do* love a good carrot cake! — there is never an infinite amount, much as she might wish, nor, it always seems, quite enough. -She hung onto joy and baked her goodies and went for her walks and awaited, with some trepidation, to the regularly scheduled therapy. Once every two weeks, unless she was overflowing, unless she was in pain, unless she simply could not bring herself to go, The Woman had an appointment +She hung onto joy and baked her goodies and went for her walks and awaited, with some trepidation, to the regularly scheduled therapy, because I think she knew that, being confronted with recounting emotions of the past or discussing emotions to come, her grasp on joy would be tested. Once every two weeks, unless she was overflowing, unless she was in pain, unless she simply could not bring herself to go, The Woman had an appointment for therapy, after all, and she knew there was good to be had in it, for it had proven its use time and again over the years, and yet it was a time for threshing, for harrowing. It was a time for throwing herself at the Work at one level of removing and watching the chaff fall away and the fruits of her labor lay exposed. It was a time for dragging the implements dirt break up into clods and