Thursday, 11 October 2007

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Dear Good Sense, I humbly request that you not leave me when I need you most. I mean, you (mostly*) stuck with me as I chatted with Adam and John on Friday night and Saturday morning, but you abandoned me as I strode toward the front of the Walnut Room and introduced myself to James Wood. Like, seriously dude—seriously—what was up with that? I was convinced that walking up to him and telling he was completely misreading William Gass was a good idea. You should've been there, you know, to tell me that Wood would've listened politely for about thirty seconds before shuffling away from the garrulous guy with the evident chip on his shoulder. You would've consoled me. Told me I was right and didn't need to prove it to anybody. Instead, you were, well, where were you? In the room, reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell? Mourning the Tigers' loss? Watching Boston break its own heart? Seriously, I needed you tonight, but you were "too busy" to keep my mouth in check. It followed my brain. Now I'm an ass. I mean, Opportunistic Careerism stood by me, so hopefully Wood'll remember the name emblazoned on my name tag instead of the one I proffered. (What's the worst that can happen? Wood can't have John caned now, can he?) Still, I'm upset you deserted me, and continue to do so. Don't you know what time it is? No one with you would still be awake, yet here I am, watching Matt Damon foil the best laid plans of mousy bureaucrats ... Yours, SEK *I've been told never to repeat that story. I mean, I'd already been told not to, but now I have independent verification that it's not the sort of story I should tell.

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