The Pale Blue Egg

    The famous authors I have met have all been men. I wore deep red lipstick to meet David Sedaris at Avid, drove down my street at 1:30 in the morning to see him up close. I bought the book on Amazon, took advantage of the event’s chaos to get a ticket because I am a bad person. I missed him speaking because I was too busy being hungover in Atlanta, going to the Coke museum for the third and I swear to god last time.     In line, I notice that he is wearing pajama pants and an Apple Watch. He is much smaller than his voice, that specific dry lilt he has that filled my ears on depressing Austin commutes.     It is my turn and that familiar voice is asking my name. He asks me what I do and who I hate. I tell him I am becoming a teacher, and then tell him the truth, that there’s this girl in all my classes.  She just talks all the time and says the most obvious things just because she thinks something needs to fill up the space. (...

I think if you know me, you might not be surprised to hear that I made my parents and bf go to an extra graduation ceremony. An optional one the day before the real one. My bf, who was also getting his masters, didn’t opt in for his extra ceremony, but you bet your ass I did. Did you know that at my school, you have to buy your graduation robe? And then it’s yours for keepsies. And it’s a real hideous piece of garbage with fake sleeves that are supposed to drape down and I think look decorative. But really they just look like extra fabric that got left on by accident. Every time you put on your robe (which, if you go to two ceremonies, will be at least twice), your hands will automatically fill up these decorative sleeves, and it will look like you are wearing shitty gloves. You will laugh about this with everyone at graduation(s)—it gives you something to talk about and a place to hide things in your sleeves while you walk acrosss the stage (both times). I realized about halfw...