I know you all think I’m some sort of magical unicorn because I manage to consistently and simultaneously do Four Seemingly Impossible Things: 1) make a living as a writer, 2) travel all over the place, 3) be 27, and 4) live in Manhattan.
Maybe you’ve opened years of text messages including variations on a theme: sorry, not going to make it, too much work to do, too tired, big day tomorrow, big night last night, exhausted, hungover, have fun, say hi, love you.
There wasn’t some Mrs. Dalloway moment where I said, “I think I’ll buy the flowers myself!” aka “I think I’ll eschew all sexuality categories and forge my own path ahead, thus infuriating my brethren of various sexual orientations for always and eternity!”