But as the building blocks collapsed she felt the Uncanny desire (like a huge freudian slip of tongue or is it a lapsus linguae? She never bothered to understand the difference) to just let go, to embrace the dissonance in her mind and accept the thousand little voices that construct her ego, to let them reinterpret reality the way they desire and fall again into this desire of becoming the fox and reaching the grapes like that story she read years ago and she can't really remember it but she remembers the feel of it, the stability of a fable that projects it's meaning into the reader.