Eastern New Mexico

I've always imagined that New Mexico would be the place I'd go if everyone I know finally tells me what they really think of me. If I run out of options and need some mystical desert-grotto-state in which to nurse myself back to personhood, or slip my way out of it. If the bomb goes off, proverbially or literally. (Ironic, maybe, since that's where the bomb did go off.)

New Mexico and Morocco. The "co" must hit me a certain way, ultimately.

I was there once, in Albuquerque and out. Like so few things (pork loin, being one), it lived up to my anticipation. It has this mountain that looks like the future, and, as Liz Lemon says, "I want to go there."

New Mexico is, in the grand fiefdom of my Pretend, where my brain finally shifts from pleasantly anxious to numbly humming; where I'll switch off, all else fails.



Today I saw a posting for a teaching position at Eastern New Mexico University. I kept it on my list just in case I wake up tomorrow and everyone I love is vanished.

ENMU (not to be confused with Northern South Dakota State or Southwestern Oklahoma or Central Hawaii Tech) has this thing called the "Golden Library." I think everyone needs a "Golden Library," a dream of last resort.

In this post-Davocalyptic future, I'd change my name and raise a greyhound. My library carrel would allow greyhounds, Eastern New Mexico being partial to them.