If it's best to call work numbers, call JLD. But if I were to ride the bus home, which bus, and to which home would I be going? How long did it take KLK to retrieve her maiden name? If you look closely at the / between addresses and phone numbers on each index card shown above, you can see where my heart fissured, the liminality I thereby entered at the mercy of a No. 2 pencil that probably needed to be sharpened. There it is again, below my Passport to Jesus photo: the Country Mouse becomes the City Mouse, or so it was, in part, sold to me, along with tire swing, treehouse, and--cue "Entry of the Gladiators" (see below)--a trapeze, because what girl doesn't dream of flying high, vermiculite falling on her hair like snow? How about those sound-deadening acoustic ceiling properties, while we're here: for when you have to cry yourself to sleep, or when you don't want to hear who else in the house does. But I don't mean that like woe is me, nor sentimentally--just feels like a missed opportunity otherwise. Liminality: a threshold, to be sure, the entrance to a house--and by extension the house itself (and thus an exit from another). That sense of ending, a gate or barrier between two separate fields or spheres--the indeterminacy and in-betweenness, so unascribable, indescribable. Neither here nor there. But wandering the periphery of existence, the uncertain fringe of I have/I had (see below): NOTE TO FIRST EDITION EDITOR/S: pending the author's approval, please consider switching tense from present to past. Country Mouse/City Mouse--cute analogy, sure.
Except, the thing is, the Country Mouse in question will always want to leave the city, and she will (she'll run and run and run).
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S.J. DunningWriter, editor, SAHM of three, infertility advocate, pregnancy loss advocate, ex-ballerina, nostalgic, record-keeper, documentarian Archives
March 2024
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