I am not changing my mind (Morgen made me want to). Piglet is stupid (read: strong in it's vulnerability and willingness to go into the depths of pain and fear to face the kinds of things that would make Christopher Robin's mother upset -- she would have him committed if she knew what went on in his Hundred-Acre Wood). I never liked Piglet (until now). And I am not changing my mind! (Alas, I cannot, as I have ranted and raved against the pink thing too much in the past post, and at our gathering last Friday. I suppose I could change my mind . . . if I wished to face the kind of ridicule and taunting that only Piglet could put up with because it is too frightened to request a remission of the taunting.) If I were Piglet, which I am not, I would have to be the kind of pink, snub-nosed, bat-like thing that uses it's legs, which are very present, to take it to Morgen's Mordor at the far, far end of the Hundred Acre Wood. That is a bad place. That place makes me tremble. With fear. And longing. The tense trembling of fear and excitement . . . hey, can I be Goblet?
So really, who the fuck are you, last post-er? Have I met you?
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You have not met the last poster. She is, in some senses, unmeetable. And while I would like to have meant that in a mystical/philosophical sense, the truth is, she just lives in Pennsylvania.
ReplyDeleteWriter's Group emerged after Cosmic Moon Girl and I met at a thing and got to talking about things, and one thing led to another--poof: writer's group. Then she moved. The bitch.
Yes, Leslie, you can be Goblet--which in a Da Vinci Code sense, might be kind of cool.