I'm leaving today for AWP, and I am full of a dread composed of many parts, though bad weather, networking chatter, arrogant writer posturing, and claustrophobia are its primary components. It's not necessary to remind me that I'm being foolish and short-sighted about the networking, or that I'll be spending time with non-arrogant writers whose company I enjoy immensely, or that the claustrophobia will be manageable once I find said friends, or that a snow forecast of 2 to 4 inches in a winter-ready city that knows how to clear streets is not likely to be more than a minor annoyance. The dread hangs like a over my head like a big, flapping, wet hen.