“Adoption cast me in this role I never asked for.
In a wretched stage play that I now deem over and done with”
The following is from a series of musings on trauma, memory, community, and place. The introduction to the series and beginning essay [link] explains the purpose of this month of entries.
I remember working in a theater in Paris.
How I got the job was due to a misperception of identity.
At the time I lived on the Île Saint-Louis.
As romantic as this sounds, I should explain that my apartment was in an ancient stone building that formerly had been a convent.
I lived in a top-floor maid’s room.
My arms outstretched, I could touch both walls at the same time.
The “Turkish toilet” was public and down the hall.
In the winter I had to insulate the whole thing with cardboard.
It was a hole.
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