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lemurling's Journal
Plus Account Created on 12 July 2002 (#627767) Last updated on 5 August 2013 Gift
Name:
lemurling
It is true that to the eye I am an odd sort of lemur.
My skin is the color of old bones, my eyes not particularly large and a mossy brown, my feet lack thumbs though I can pick up the occasional pencil, and I'm really not very fuzzy. My hair is often tangled, falling like winter leaves to my knees, and sometimes confined to queue, trailing down my back like a misplaced tail.
I also have breasts, you can't miss them, which are not common to lemurs. I generally lack most of their normal form and feature, though my nose is long and my jaw narrow. The effect has never pleased me, but I get used to it as I get older. For a person or a prehistoric grass-eating lemur, I'm on the small side, but I tower over the modern brain-eating variety. I suppose they had to get smaller, considering the size and quality of the average human brain.
But the lemurs know me anyway. Sometimes we talk, and they tell me about their lives, always full of so much wisdom, and a great deal of lolling. They whisper about what is true, and they complain to me; lemurs invented both whining and sarcasm, of course, though they only admit to the latter. My heritage shows.
Sometimes I puzzle them, and I know it puzzles others, with my ever so seriously ridiculous adoration. My personality has always been marked by cold and arrogance and aloofness. That's partly why my journal is friends-only. But lemurs have their arrogance too, being royalty. And if I have melted a bit under their influence, then it's probably for the best, but don't think you can rub my belly, I have very sharp teeth.
My skin is the color of old bones, my eyes not particularly large and a mossy brown, my feet lack thumbs though I can pick up the occasional pencil, and I'm really not very fuzzy. My hair is often tangled, falling like winter leaves to my knees, and sometimes confined to queue, trailing down my back like a misplaced tail.
I also have breasts, you can't miss them, which are not common to lemurs. I generally lack most of their normal form and feature, though my nose is long and my jaw narrow. The effect has never pleased me, but I get used to it as I get older. For a person or a prehistoric grass-eating lemur, I'm on the small side, but I tower over the modern brain-eating variety. I suppose they had to get smaller, considering the size and quality of the average human brain.
But the lemurs know me anyway. Sometimes we talk, and they tell me about their lives, always full of so much wisdom, and a great deal of lolling. They whisper about what is true, and they complain to me; lemurs invented both whining and sarcasm, of course, though they only admit to the latter. My heritage shows.
Sometimes I puzzle them, and I know it puzzles others, with my ever so seriously ridiculous adoration. My personality has always been marked by cold and arrogance and aloofness. That's partly why my journal is friends-only. But lemurs have their arrogance too, being royalty. And if I have melted a bit under their influence, then it's probably for the best, but don't think you can rub my belly, I have very sharp teeth.
