homecoming

i was back at Amherst for a total of 24 hours. i made a big deal as we drove down Route 9 (under all other circumstances, this stretch of road provokes my rage and disdain) and passed such favorites as Aqua Vitae and Northern Lights. i didn't know quite what to do with myself once i got on campus and the friends i knew i was seeing were away at work, but, sure enough, i managed to bump into enough people to keep me chatting all afternoon as i made my way from Frost to the Campus Center to Campus Police to the Triangle. it was nice, too, to spend the night in Seligman and have multiple warm beverages at Amherst Coffee, to laugh out loud when my counselor friend told me she and the other counselors would be partying in Coolidge basement that night. i was having more of a town weekend, watching tons of people walk by whom i really don't know, and looking forward to life across the street from campus this coming year. i saw the Outreach Office staff and we talked shop. this morning i saw a couple of the best professors and, as if by magic, started to feel ready for this, for the classes and the thesis and the being academic again.

right now it's 4:45am; my roommate and her friends got back from Bed half an hour ago and went out on the terrace. i heard them come home, convinced myself it might be a burglar who sounds like a small girl with a key, and peeked into the other room just to make sure.
i just finished watching the very last episodes of Sex in the City for the first time, and then i had a complete, soaking-my-pillow cry. these were tension tears mostly: it's been a confusing week; plus i lost my phone in upstate New York; and today i had to spend five hours on the Peter Pan bus. (let's face it--that last one is enough to make anyone cry.) they were also wet girly tears that got stirred up by Charlotte and Harry finding a baby and Samantha dealing with the cancer---the kind of tears that are just waiting for some emotionally manipulating story to squeeze them out. it was an i'm-okay cry, too, a cry that goes along with feeling good and strong and full.

i just couldn't sleep, mostly because my only way of dealing with the aforementioned Peter Pan had been to sink myself in a drowsy iPod-immersed daze all afternoon. this is not so bad right now, although i know if i sleep in tomorrow it will ruin my plans for a serious Sunday. not being able to call anyone has put me at more of a loss than usual---when i'm at home, there's family and a house phone; at school, everyone is always right around you; but coming back to an empty apartment in the middle of this big swamping city, i really didn't quite know what to do. still, there are other ways to communicate, and at the moment i am remembering the tactile pleasure i've always had in typing. one forgets these things outside of the paper-writing season.

i'll try sleep again though, before we hit the 5am mark. goodnight.

muggy day

yesterday i saw a L'Oreal commercial for an anti-frizz serum, with the usual before-and-after images of a girl staring sadly into the mirror until the camera swoops around and her frizz transforms into smooth shiny locks. usually, the "before" picture looks like the girl stuck her finger into an electric socket, but in this commercial? the "before" girl had MY HAIR. totally reasonable, somewhat frizzy, but still cute, hair. MINE. (reference Facebook Group "I Have Big Curly Hair and I'm Not Sorry") i was very offended and am considering writing a letter.

two or three weeks in the city and things are goin' alright, but i suspect that cockroaches are exploring my kitchen in the middle of the night. other than that, the apartment is swank, the weather is insane, and today at The New Press i decided that i really like working there and working in publishing, tout court.
which isn't to say that i hadn't liked it before: it's a nice place, the other interns are fun, and the work has been decent if not exhilarating. but the other day we got to sit in during an editorial board meeting, and today the Publisher gave one of the monthly "intern seminars" (free lunch + staff member talking about what s/he does), and it's these moments of insight into the whole process of making books that have got me kind of excited.
at The New Press there is a middle-aged Eastern European woman who handles all the money stuff and like more than one other middle-aged Eastern European woman i have met, she has a bit of a mother-crush on me. i am not sure why this is a recurring thing, but when she began pinching my cheeks and touching my curls, i did not experience surprise so much as i thought to myself, "ah yes, this sometimes happens." perhaps there's an explanation for this phenomenon somewhere.
here's another question: how has the "Shamu" article stayed at the top of the Most Emailed list for like three weeks? i mean, sure it was mildly interesting, but i compulsively read the "Modern Love" column anyway (BIG guilty pleasure, even better than the Weddings). i impulse-bought the Sunday Times when i was grocery-shopping this weekend, but it takes the whole week to read it! and now i'm distracted by the Village Voice which i think i should read for local color. the latter publication also functioned as an umbrella when i got caught in the rain this afternoon. crazy New York summers.

Project Runway starts tonight and my spirit will be with you. the rest of me will be on my couch with my friend Jessie and a bottle of wine.

hey, does anyone know how to change what location it says under my name, to the right of the page? i've already updated it in my profile but can't figure out how to change it here. very tricky.

anyway, when i'm not at The New Press, i'm working twice a week for a literary agent named Irene. she's full of stories and surprises. for instance, work last friday was remarkable for two reasons:
1) i found Gabriel Garcia Marquez's number on a card in her Rolodex.
2) while demonstrating how to use the postage meter, Irene told me to "flush right, then push the label all the way up. it's just like putting in a diaphragm."