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writing/post-self/idumea/002.md
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# 2
The Woman decided to go walking one day. Perhaps she was driven by restlessness. Perhaps she was bored! I do not know.
The Woman decided to go walking one day. Perhaps she was driven by restlessness. She had an errand to run, sure, but this day she decided to walk. Perhaps she was bored! I do not know.
Either way, she was feeling good and she was feeling stable and she was feeling feline, so she found herself a nice set of slacks to wear over her legs, ones that looped up over the base of her tail in such a way that the same would be just as possible with a skunk's tail, and yet which would not fall down for those moments when she does not have a tail.
She found herself a nice shirt that felt good on the fur and which would not look too weird if she poofed out into a skunk. It was not her favorite shirt, I am sure, otherwise maybe she would wear it every day, but it was good enough. It had the word 'fiend' scribbled across it in angular, glitchy graffiti, and The Woman is absolutely allowed to feel like a fiend some days.
Thus clothed, The Woman stands for a while in front of the mirror and admires herself. She feels good. She feels good, reader! It is not often that she feels more than just okay. Because even with all that I wrote about before, her life is not bad. It is an okay life. She likes this life in her own way. Her thoughts on unbecoming are not thoughts on suicide, I do not think.
Thus clothed, The Woman stood for a while in front of the mirror and admired herself. She felt good. She felt good, reader! It was not often that she felt more than just okay. Because even with all that I wrote about before, her life was not bad. It was an okay life. She liked this life in her own way. Her thoughts on unbecoming were not thoughts on suicide, I do not think.
She stands before the mirror and preens for a moment, adjusting the way her shirt sits and fluffing out her slacks to see how they might fit with a thicker coat. She combs her claws through her short fur to straighten out some mussed-up spots and ensures that her whiskers are all neat and in those rows that cats have that she always found fascinating.
She stood before the mirror and preened for a moment, adjusting the way her shirt sat and fluffing out her slacks to see how they might fit with a thicker coat. She combed her claws through her short fur to straighten out some mussed-up spots and ensured that her whiskers were all neat and in those rows that cats have that she always found fascinating.
The trip to the city is as it ever is. She says to herself a little prayer and opens the door to her closet. Taking a deep breath, she steps through, and as she does so, she brushes her fingertips against the jamb as ever, and today it feels right enough that she steps lively out onto the city streets, out where the leaves skitter anxiously around her footpaws in the faint February breeze.
The trip to the city was as it ever was. She said to herself a little prayer and opened the door to her closet. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through, and as she did so, she brushed her fingertips against the jamb as ever, and today it felt right enough that she stepped lively out onto the city streets, out where the leaves skittered anxiously around her footpaws in the faint February breeze.
Stuffing her paws into her pockets, she makes her way down the street where her entrance is located to the main drag.
Stuffing her paws into her pockets, she made her way down the street, where her entrance was located, to the main drag. The city was on the small end — more large town than full on city — and so it was still the type of place to have a main drag, a street built for cars that it does not actually have, with wide sidewalks paved in brick and a trolley that ran down the middle.
The city is on the small end — more large town than full on city — and so it is still the type of place to have a main drag, a street built for cars that it does not actually, with wide sidewalks paved in brick and a trolley that runs down the middle.
The Woman waited for the next trolley car to come and stepped aboard, tucking her tail down and around her leg as she held onto one of the railings — she never sat, and never could tell you why — to ride it for three stops. This was part of the ritual. Even when the car was busy and she was not feeling so good, there was a part of her that was happy that she got to stand on this trolley and hold onto this railing and feel this rattle and buzz of the wheels rolling along the track through her feet or paws. It was not even particularly pleasant for her, I think, but it *was* fulfilling.
The Woman waits for the next trolley car to come and steps aboard, tucking her tail down and around her leg as she holds onto one of the railings — she never sits, and never could tell you why — to ride it for three stops. This is part of the ritual. Even when the car is busy and she is not feeling so good, there is a part of her that is happy that she gets to stand on this trolley and hold onto the railing and feel the rattle and buzz of the wheels rolling along the track through her feet or paws. It is not even particularly pleasant for her, I think, but it *is* fulfilling.
She made it her three stops and stepped easily from the trolley to find herself before her usual coffee shop. There was so much comfort in routine sometimes. Not all routines are rituals, after all, sometimes there was just a coffee shop that you really like because it makes good mochas and always gives you extra whipped cream without being asked.
She makes it her three stops and steps easily from the trolley to find herself before her usual coffee shop. There is so much comfort in routine sometimes. Not all routines are rituals, after all, sometimes there is just a coffee shop that you really like because it makes good mochas and always gives you extra whipped cream without being asked.
And so that was just the routine that she engaged with.
And so that is just the routine that she engages with
Once The Woman has her mocha with extra whip, once she has one of her usual tables over by the windows, once she has taken a seat, then at last she lets her shoulders relax, lets the tension drain out of the small of her back, lets her tail curl around a leg of the chair so that she can simply exist out in public, just sit in her chair by the window and watch the life of the city roll by outside and listen to the rumble-chatter of the coffee shop and, in turn, be watched, be heard, be witnessed.
Once The Woman had her mocha with extra whip, once she had one of her usual tables over by the windows, once she had taken a seat, then at last she let her shoulders relax, let the tension drain out of the small of her back, let her tail curl around a leg of the chair so that she can simply exist out in public, just sit in her chair by the window and watch the life of the city roll by outside and listen to the rumble-chatter of the coffee shop and, in turn, be watched, be heard, be witnessed.
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(a visit to a coffee shop)
The Woman loved a good mocha — even I love a good mocha! — and so she was plenty happy to go to the coffee shop every now and then to pick one up, to sit by the window and watch and listen to the world go by, but this was not why she is here today. This was her errand.
That day, The Woman was here because Her Friend had asked to meet up.
This was not how this usually went, you understand. Usually, The Woman was upset and asked for Her Friend to visit her, or perhaps she was out anyway and simply desired company on this errand or that, a friend for dinner or coffee or a walk along the shops to peruse the latest trends in fashion or oneirotecture or sensework. It had ever been the case that The Woman contacted Her Friend, and not the other way around.
(Friend is having a bad day b/c ???)