I hope it’s not an imposition; I’d like to be shown around. Being a porch-dog is the same thing as being a veranda-girl, both look out onto the same garden, from different floors, different heights. One might have a greater quantity of matted fur, but as things stand that’s highly unlikely. Free phones, round yellow table in Chinatown parking lot, us three sitting at it with no small feast and the sun going down. I am very grateful--least of all for the white grape juice, but you know--near close to tears. There's a good chance I will be going back to Calgary in July. We'll see how things go. There's nothing to miss in me. Today I am dusting for money. Right before I collapse. You have no idea what I pulled out of the bushes in the alley last night, right down to the heated water, what vivid, point-by-point TERRIFYING dreams it brought me. Jumping up and down on the stairwell, screaming, screaming for my mother. I woke up in the dark and expected her not to be there--she wasn't. The most terrifying, suitably melodramatic dream I've ever had. I still don't know what was in it, at least not everything. I tried to work it out in clumps, under the low light. Tho' always the same, same consistency smeared on my hand. I could hardly see a thing, grain from grain.
Posted by caroline at June 27, 2005 11:41 AM