From the Post Office Line
February 5, 2013

Woman wearing sunglasses—indoors—and tights covered in palm trees
with a heavy-looking brown coat with fur trim

People in front of me talking Algorithms, and
someone else wearing an Amelia Earhart hat

1, 2, 3, 15 people in line

The woman behind the desk shouts: “anyone just dropping stuff off?”
and those who nod yes are directed to the front

I wish they’d scream, “anyone budgeted their time poorly?”

Person after person who clearly hasn’t rehearsed
his speech and request as I have make it to the front of the desk

Stamps. Tax refunds. Confusion.

My book turned one on Saturday.

Now, I don’t have any kids—a fact my students remind me of frequently—but this feels significant. Or, actually, it feels like it should feel significant. Mostly it just feels weird and factual: One year (and two days) ago, my writing found its way into the hands of a lot of people all at once.

I should say something more about that, right? Or maybe I should run some kind of timely promotion like any good seller of stuff. [Okay, that I actually did. Check it out.] Or maybe I should address the many questions people ask me like, what’s next? Are you staying in Baltimore? What are you writing now? Seriously, are you really staying in Baltimore?

No matter what, I should say something about something—anything!—because I’m a writer and haven’t written anything of consequence [not totally true] in now-over a year.

But I can’t! Or couldn’t? Or maybe just haven’t tried in a while…for a lot of reasons, some complex, some less so. But I’m getting ahead of myself.