Not an April Fool's Joke, or, On Getting Ready for AWP and Other Deadly Serious Matters

I am starving myself for beauty. Two pounds. Only one Weight Watchers Brownie for dessert. Not three. I will find my way into all the big bashes. Or crash them. I need to fit into my AWP night wear. My white jeans and Ultimate Merona Black Polo Shirt. (If my clothes don't work, I'm going to claim to be Neil de la Flor's date. Or Randall Mann's. Sometimes you've got to settle.)

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One of my closest friends told me that she wouldn't be able to hang out with me at AWP. (She's a star on a panel.) Too busy. I wish I could say this was an April Fool's Joke. She said that perhaps at night--in her room or mine, with the curtains drawn.

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I am very sad that my partner is not going to be there. I have no idea why, but sometimes he says that distance makes the heart grow fonder. "What does that have to do with me?" I ask. And then the volume to the TV goes up.

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We're going to buy him a cell phone (we got our first one three weeks ago) so when I'm walking around the book fair, he can call me and look important, pretending he's someone else. Then I'll stop at someone's table all frazzled and ask them if I could jot down a phone number, and they'll be nice and give me something to write with, and I'll say thank you, thank you, and buy one of their ugly ass books, and get extra points for being charitable. No way someone won't invite me to a party then.

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I always think that I'm going to be happy being away from my partner, but after one night, I get homesick and want to go home. Why did you make me love you, asshole!

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No help from me, the wonderful Rane Arroyo came to read at Brockport, and he danced. I like dancing. Or when other people do it. This was the question I was once asked during Truth or Date: "What quality would you be remembered for that you do NOT possess?"

I said, "To take up space well."

The next round I was dared to dance. There was only one catch. The gamer said: "Wait for all of us to close your eyes. Then do it."

I hope I get to see some happy male people dancing.

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I'm going to have someone take a photo of me and John Gallaher. So he can put it on his blog and I'll feel popular.

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Yesterday a famous poet/blogger responded to my status update. My update said that I'd pay $50 for someone to invite me to a party that you needed to an invitation for. He wrote: "Is this an April Fool's Joke?" And then he deleted it! A new low.

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I have a new tic when I teach. I stare at one student and then ask another to answer the question. It freaks them out a bit. I like it. If I meet a gay couple, I'm going to try it out in a social situation. And see if it makes me look sexy.

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I suffer from insomnia--real insomnia--not the kind where you get four hours of sleep and then don't look pretty. Once I've gone three days without sleeping--started to have delusions. Warts on peoples' heads. Shit like that. For the first time, I'm going to try melatonin which I heard is a lot like pot but legal.

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I'm going to buy every single book by a gay author that I can find and don't already have.

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I'm going to hang out with my publishers LeRoy and Lesly Chappell and tell them how much I love them.

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I'm going to any panel about gay issues I can and then race back to my room and write about it.

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I'm going to go up to at least six different complete strangers and tell them I love their work. Everyone has the right to feel like they have anonymous fans.