I finally wrote something about AWP, which turns out is not that much about AWP.

It’s more about getting lost:

Not even satellites can figure Boston out, it seems, because GPS DOESN’T WORK THERE. . . Your physical body and your iPhone spirit guide have become unmoored. How will you find your way back to yourself?

And my apparent quarter-life crisis:

If someone had walked up to me at that moment and offered to put feather extensions in my hair, I would have been like, “How did you get in my bedroom,” and then I would have been like, “Welcome, please proceed.”

And drinking:

I then proceeded to spend LOTS of money on drinks and continued to do so all of AWP, which is different because drinks are sustenance, like food and water. That’s, like, the base of the hierarchy of needs.

And being an adult about drinking:

I was like, “No thanks, guys. I am a responsible adult this year, so eight whiskey diets are enough for me.”

And watching writers dance:

It is Christmas morning, if Christmas morning was people raving in cardigans and tweed.

And, if you haven’t noticed yet, it’s over on my Tumblr, which I know is a mean trick, but my Tumblr was getting jealous of my WordPress because it was just getting lazy re-blogs and no real content, and a good mother loves her children equally.


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