update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/idumea/001.html

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 <p>None of this shifting of form that would strike unawares, for there she would be, sitting as pretty as could be, just this woman, just this short, round woman with a round, pale face and curly, black hair, and then with a cry or with a whimper or with a sigh of defeat, her very form would shift from beneath her. Her conception of herself would slip from her grasp and she would cease to be The Woman and instead be The Skunk or The Panther. It was always one of those three, for some days, she would be happily The Panther, and then a bee would land on her nose and tickle her whiskers and she would sneeze herself into a skunk.</p>
 <p>I think it was cute sometimes, and I think she would say the same. I think she would say, &ldquo;Oh! Oh! Look at that!&rdquo; and then she would set to work brushing her tail. After all, what else is one to do if they found themselves to be in possession of such caudal beauty as is a skunk?</p>
 <p>This is why The Woman had so much trouble with clothing, you see. She would try to look deep within herself at her moods to see what it is that she felt and how it was that the day might go and she might come up with a pretty skirt that felt good on her legs and a lovely shirt she liked the look of, but then, some time later, the shirt would be puffy with fur and the skirt would not sit right with her tail.</p>
-<p>No rituals. No overflowing. Just peace. It is hard to experience peace when one is too human, is it not?</p>
+<p>No rituals. No overflowing. Just peace. It is hard to experience peace, hard to experience joy when one is too much oneself, is it not?</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2024-05-31</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2024-06-14</p>
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