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286 pages, Hardcover
First published June 30, 2020
That’s how your life becomes a set thing, written and unchangeable. It was an object that did not really belong to me, and to wish for any other was a fallacy at best, treasonous at worst.
Blue ticket: Don’t underestimate the relief of a decision being taken away from you.
Blue ticket: I was not motherly. It had been judged that it wasn’t for me by someone who knew better than I did.
Blue ticket: There was lack in my brain, my body, my soul, or some thing. There was a flaw I should not pass on. A warmth I was missing.
Blue ticket: My life was precious enough as it was. I wasn’t to be risked.
Blue ticket: Some called it a noble sacrifice, others a mercy. It meant a different thing every time I thought about it.
Years were frenetic, then calmer. They ticked with the inevitability of a metronome, some fallow and some interesting. Things could happen to a blue ticket woman the way they might not for a white ticket. Spirit of adventure. In practice, life felt smaller than that expansiveness promised.
“It's kind of a road trip novel, it's kind of a pregnancy novel, it's full of old hotels, strange doctors, uncanny landscapes and longing”
Pain scrunched me up, tiny and ineffectual. Then it opened me up at the ribs, the pelvis, like I was being disarticulated on a butcher’s block. Then it was a horse bolting away from me. It was impossible to get a grip on it.
Soft body learning to be hard on the country roads. Gravel; wet, steaming air in my nostrils. Body of tarmac and hotel rooms and swimming pools and bathrooms and clinics, body of ripped up cuti cles and appetite and sex with people loved and not loved, a body forgiving every bad thing I could do to it. A body always going somewhere. Carrying me onwards. Never letting me down, yet.