God, I missed Boston. I'm so over Indiana, not including about eight people.
First night back and Derek and I go to Chris's feature at The Out of the Blue. It's my fault, really, because when Chad called me last minute after a cancellation, I said I couldn't do it and gave him Chris's number instead. Sam is there. Jme shows up. Chris is wearing a paisley tie. There are forties and whiskey and various other substances. There is walking down streets and climbing up fire escapes and loudness and gestures and satisfaction and dissatisfaction. God, we are an attractive bunch, someone should say.
I got the final draft of my novel in, typos corrected and everything. My agent started querying today. I talked to her this afternoon and she said she already got two requests to read the manuscript. That doesn't mean anything, but it feels good. "This is the best part," she says, "after the interest, before the rejections start." I say "I am realistic," and she says "I know, it's very cool."
I gave away my Starbucks shirts today because I am not going back, and I've been drinking green smoothies. The movie about Dylan is out. I'd like to see that.