If I can’t have a little mental breakdown on my blog where can I? In other words, sorry for yesterday and thanks for so many notes of encouragement. “Sometimes I think my head is so big because it’s so full of dreams.” Sometimes I think my head is so big because I’m going to the National Book Awards reading tomorrow night and the awards ceremony Wednesday. Sometimes I think my head is shoved up my ass.
Many have asked: what am I wearing to the National Book Awards. You know it’s going to be one of those last minute decisions that I’ll make with my gut: my black suit or, er, my black suit. Some want to know if I will be wearing heels. No. Will I get my hair blown out. No. Nails done? No? Accessories? No, no, no. I will clean my glasses with sudsy hot water. I will floss.
I expect my pumpkin to turn into a cab, my dog into a great gold Palomino, and my fairy godmother to appear either as Elizabeth Bishop or Beyonce. Steve Martin will be my prince or a footman. Sonny Mehta will be the king and I will kiss his ring. James Frey will be the jester in a coat he borrowed from James Dean. The night will be magical. I won’t look at my blackberry but once and then it will be a minute to midnight. And then we will know what we’ve known along.
If I could grant you one (writing) wish, what would it be?
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