I know I said I'd get all deep and meaningful and shit in this entry, but I sold half my brain for three hours of sleep. And, apparently, that half of my brain is the one where all the smart things are stored. So, yeah. Sorry about that.

Anyway, I forgot to tell you people a conference story. The horror.

I was sitting in this big building, waiting for the opening address to start. I did not know one soul and was an hour early. This meant that I was sitting all by myself and staring at people when they came in.

So I'm watching all these people when I felt someone staring at me. I'm not down with that shit, so I began angrily scanning the incoming crowds. I see this young guy wearing all white and khaki watching me with that weird look that either means he will say "Don't I know you?" or ask me to read a story he's been carrying around. I'm like, oh shit. Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact, exude unapproachable evil, blah blah blah. I looked down and began reading some magazine that was in our conference folder.

A minute passed and that creepy feeling of being watched goes away, so I raise my head to make sure the dude has sat down somewhere else. Nope. He's still working his way over. Except now he is focused on taking off his watch. OK, then.

And then he sits down next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a gigantic backpack that could hold many, many manuscripts and please, god, don't let him ask me to read anything. That happened last year. There was this guy who had about a dozen twenty page science fiction stories. He would go up to random people, hand them a story and fucking WATCH you read the whole thing. He would target old ladies, figuring they would be too polite to say no.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes. The boy sitting next to me.

We sit in silence for a few minutes and then he says, "Excuse me. Do you have the time?"

It took every ounce of strength to not yell "DUDE, I saw you take off your watch. What the hell are you trying to do?" Then I thought, whoa. Calm the fuck down, OK? Maybe his watch was broken or something. I frequently converse with myself in the manner, by the way. It makes me quirky.

I tell him the time and I guess that's some sort of green light cuz he starts asking me all these questions. I notice that he laughs at his own jokes. Loudly. And manages to insult aspiring fiction writers before even making sure I am not one. And refers to the main speaker as "that guy." As in "Are you here to see that guy talk?" OK, that guy? Is Salman fucking Rushdie. Show some goddamn respect.

Anyway, he just annoyed me. A lot. So I stopped talking. Which was very rude of me, but I was getting very uncomfortable and anti-social the more he spoke. That is not a good thing. So we sat there in silence.

Then oh my god. Did he just pull the watch out of his pocket to check the time? Yes, he did. Wow.

Yeah, I bet I could have told that story in one paragraph. Easily. And it seems I am unnecessarily vicious towards boys who attempt to speak to me. Hmm. Oh well.

In other news, today is the anniversary of Sylvia Plath's suicide. I will probably write about it more later. Now, I have to find food.

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