So this is kind of how I have felt all week. Bah! Washed out and gritty. But last night I went to bed by 9:30--an amazing feat, considering how much I love watching Super Tuesday coverage--and I think I may be on the mend. My voice is still wonky, though. Eric Wasserman says I sound like Kathleen Turner. Is this a good thing?
My main conclusions after AWP NYC 08:
I need to go back to NYC, without AWP. I missed seeing my dear Byf and my wonderful Dusty, I didn't make it to the MOMA, even though it was just a block away, not to mention the Met, or the Algonquin, or to my cousins' place out on Long Island. I'm just going to have to make another trip. NYC is not a good place for AWP.
Leaving the bookfair table made me really anxious. Of course it was in good hands, but I felt like I was really missing out, even if it was for something essential, like attempting to consume a large pile of bacon with Jay R. Next year we might exhibit with the other Northeast Ohio poetry presses, which would be cool. I could eat my bacon right there in the booth.
I really don't like bacon. Maybe I'm thinking about it because today's Ash Wednesday.
BOR#1 paypal sales will start within the next couple of days, and contributors' copies will be in the mail by the end of the week. Please spread the word, and buy one! We're independent, and non-profit, and not too proud to beg.
I wonder how many hands I shook in NYC.
The NEOMFA reception was hot! We even had to order more vino. Thanks to everyone who stopped by.
Please keep your fingers crossed that I make some real progress today, and get things done. I think we should all get a week off after AWP. It's like going to the prom five days in a row, only without the polyester and corsages and crying in the bathroom. Okay, scratch that last part.