Maud is the subject of today’s Gothamist interview:

Describe that low, low moment when you thought you just might have to leave NYC for good.

Construction started on the storefront of a building I lived in, and vermin invaded my apartment. They popped up most frequently in the kitchen cabinets and the tiled cigar box my landlords called a “shower stall.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible to beat Florida’s palmetto bugs. They walk on ceilings and dive-bomb your hair, and after my parents’ divorce they used to scamper about in my father’s filthy toaster oven. (He’d douse the bugs, and the toaster, with Raid, wait thirty seconds, and then put my and my sister’s cheese toast in to cook. Sometimes bugs staggered out, weaving from side to side with the poison, while the toast was cooking.)

Anyhow, it turned out I’d underestimated New York City roaches. One spring morning during the renovations, I rode to work with something prickly in my pants and pulled out a living, 2-inch waterbug.

Also: this entry Maud wrote about her relationship with her father has been nominated for a Diarist Award for Best Dramatic Entry.

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