staking claim.

I was going to write more over the weekend and the past few days, but have been wicked sick with a cold that has now morphed into a stomach virus-y kind of thing. Apparently it's going around. March 4 was one year exactly that I got the call from Stephen O'Connor at Columbia, asking me to join their program. So much has changed in a year....and it's been rough, no doubt about that. I will be the first to admit I miss North Carolina every day. I miss the people, my friends, the weather, the community, my gym community/tri team - I miss who I am down there. I'm more relaxed, healthier and less stressed. But I am very glad I moved here. I have met some amazing people in my program and look forward to sharing the rest of my writing life with them, even after the program ends. I have met wonderful professors and read more than I ever imagined I'd be capable of. And then read some more. I remember reading Nellie's book last summer and hoping I'd get into her class, and now I'm in a second class with her and consider her an inspiring role model for my writing. These people, whom I've only been familiar with through a book, are now part of my real, everyday life. And that's been so worth it. Funny what a year can bring. Of course, that's also bittersweet - in the days leading up to that phone call, my aunt had sent me a card reminding me not to give up hope, because she knew I was getting anxious at not hearing from anywhere. And now, a year later, she's not here. A lot has changed.

March 5 was the four year anniversary of Eve Carson's murder. I've posted every year about it, but this year felt different. Maybe because I'm not in Chapel Hill, it feels a little more removed.

And of course, this weekend, Duke got an asswhoopin' from UNC. 88-70. On their home court. On Senior Night. HA!!! We lost before, and we weren't gonna lose again. Yeah Heels!!! (It's so funny to try to explain this rivalry to people up here....it's impossible, really. Let's see how they react to March Madness - somehow I doubt I'll find a bracket group going on in the School of the Arts).

Today I went downtown to Soho - it was a beautiful day, and everyone in the city seemed a little more cheerful. You know, in that surly, aloof, Manhattan kind of way. But cheerful nonetheless. Before I felt too sick (with this stomach thing, I feel sicker as the day goes on), I decided to go and walk around. Namely, I wanted to go to McNally Jackson to look at their great stash of lit mags - which was sadly less than lustrous today. McJ is a super cute bookstore on Prince St. It's an indie, and cozy, with a cafe that serves yummy coffee. Today it actually was the least crowded I've ever seen it. (Note to self:come here on a weekday morning to get a table and some work done). I wanted a job there when I moved to NY, but after email-tag, it never worked out. Sadness. I miss working at an indie bookstore SO much. Anyway, I ended up picking up a book for spring break, by Anne Roiphe, called "Art and Madness," a memoir of her writing coming-of-age. The guy who rang me up made a funny comment about it, and said, "Are you an artist?" And you know what? For the first time, without even thinking about it, I said, "I'm a writer." He replied, "Well, writers are artists!" I'm a writer. That may have been the first time I've stated that to a total stranger, without hesitating or thinking.

And damn, it felt good.