Oy! Oy! All you writers who get to drink and mate and stuff and talk and fuck and run covetous hands across book covers across AWP programs across free cds given out by pushy poets across soul patches and smooth unmuscled arms and muscled arms and big writing hands and pens and closure is a four letter word and arc is too but we all want climax we all want to arch and buck and write and well you know...AWP-goers I'm jealous, yes I am and therefore this post'll be short but I hope y'all have fun and The Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens elevator reading doesn't get stuck between floors unless it intends.
Next year I will come say hi to everyone who's published me unless I don't get the nerve or a highball interlude turns into a highball adventure into a soiree or... if you don't publish me, then I won't come say hi. This is much different than stalking or even cyber-stalking. I only cyber-stalk ex-boyfriends and I'm so slick and quick they don't know it. I am a super-slick cyber stalk of old flames. It passes some kind of time until my toast pops up.
Here's wishing she was drunk in a bar in Denver already, people,
Ry
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