Thursday, January 13

The Kitch

I can't believe I haven't posted since Sunday. I'm trying to post more frequently. Can you tell? Before I explain the straightening-up hand in the frame above, I should tell you that I'm in Vermont at a writers residency as part of my MFA program at Bennington College. It's a low-residency affair, which means the program is set up so that we can do our writing from whatever city we live in, and then come to campus twice a year for ten-day seminars. I've been here since Thursday, and what with all the lectures and readings and workshops and whiskey (separate events, mostly), I'm a bit lost in the vortex, which is exactly the intent. I just heard pro squash player and classmate Ivy Pochoda, a novelist, give her graduating lecture on the experience of anxiety as seen in sports and literature. Of course, she killed it. (I mean, Jesus.) Before that, I was making espresso in the kitchen downstairs in my dorm and had an incredible experience with the window above the sink. More on this later. But first: 

Back in New York, Farley built those shelves near the fridge in the Farley-Sholl kitchen. In New York City, dudes who build shelves for anything get major points. You need to figure out how to use all the vertical space you can. As I got the scoop on the shelves, Jessie came up from behind and swiped a glass from the table. Busted, cleaning up.

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