It’s not easy to get to the end of things. It’s hard even when it comes as a relief, with enough of a rush to knock you down because you were more exhausted and overwhelmed than you wanted to admit. The book has been like this.
But Dana is going to be here in just a few hours and I’m going to spend my first weekend of relative freedom with her, and at the wedding of the century, and with friends of mine that I’ve missed so much over the past couple of months, who were patient and kind and supportive and confident that this stretch of being stupidly busy and frustrated and slightly-more-than-half-crazy wouldn’t last forever, even when I wasn’t sure myself. I’m looking forward to being happy again.
The new BUST is out now with my column on… um, “What It Would Be Like If You Totally Gorged Yourself On All The Girly Shit That’s Marketed To Us Women.” That’s the only way I can summarize it. Also, if you happen to be browsing through the September Teen Vogue for whatever age-inappropriate-yet-not-perverted reasons you might have, you’ll see me quoted in an article about teen online diet journals. I sound very stern with my whole critical- theory-informed assessement of the youth of today. But dude, I’m not going to french-kiss them the way Madonna would. (And you know I don’t mean that literally, right? RIGHT?)