I am really depleted. All of my jobs have piled on top of me at once. So unless you’re in my classes right now, treat me as though I don’t exist (unless you want to buy me a meal. Shout out to Andrew Bomback and Milcah Orbacedo).
I might exist again in a week or two. I hope. I have to work on my own book to make sure it doesn’t suck when it publishes in a year. That would be embarrassing.
(As this diary in the NY Mag says, I’ve turned into the woman who only talks about how much work she has. Whatever. I don’t care. Can I pull the, if-I-were-a-man-would-it–matter card?)