Christine E. Ray – A time at the edge
This autobiographical fragment from my first year of grad school in the early 1990s may be triggering for some readers. It frankly addresses suicidal ideation.
I stand in front of the open window of my one bedroom apartment in my building which is simply named “Graduate Tower B.” The building is as generic, as bland, as the name implies. It is not an uncomfortable apartment—maybe even a little big for just one person—but it is white on beige on white and screaming institutional. Much more functional and efficient than homey.
My apartment is on the 13th floor and the windows span the entire exterior wall of my living room/dining room/study/kitchenette. They start about waist height and go almost to the ceiling. They slide open on cheap aluminum tracks, and provided some relief during the week and a half of the hot, humid Indian Summer in October after the University…
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