1 the loo

the whole period from last april to now (beginning roughly with the k.lo/kti trip to new york in the spring) has, largely, been a haze. particularly the stretch in may, when i was first toying with the idea of moving to london and where i went to california three times in two weeks and then wound up in paris.

in times of stress, i either forget large chunks of things or i write everything down. the two are directly related. if i write them down, i don't forget them. if i don't, i do. 

which is unfortunate, because spring was so busy that a lot of stories slipped through the cracks. and i feel as though, now that i'm here, i'm finally having the opportunity to process them. well, at least those i can remember. 

i'd completely forgotten about that one time i spoke to andrew morton until a friend inquired whether i'd asked anyone where the loo was. and then i was like, ohmygosh, one time i spoke to andrew morton.

THE ANDREW MORTON.

this was at the biographer's conference, after my somewhat numbingly horrific experience on a social media panel. as a palate cleanser, i attended a panel on which THE ANDREW MORTON sat.

the panel was good. and when it was over, i summoned all of my nerve and approached THE ANDREW MORTON, boasting to him that i had once demanded the mississippi state university student bookstore special order a copy of his monica lewinsky biography for me.

i did this and then THE ANDREW MORTON asked me where a colleague of ours was and, in the worst accidental english accent ever, i said, "i believe he's in the loo."

THE ANDREW MORTON looked askance at me, probably trying to determine whether i was mocking him or just a moron, thanked me and walked away, in the direction- btw- opposite of the loo.