I’m realizing I should really be journaling/blogging about this venue running process (the blocked writer draws inspiration from writers’ block, the pun, the feeling, the venue). It’s all so unreal. Last night Gaby and I began working around 7 (7:30? Time really means nothing to me anymore). Three adderall, two “mid”night sandwich runs, two complete room redecorations, one hair dye process (Gaby), one missed sunrise (well two if you count our first all-nighter last month), one near-mental breakdown (me), one (countless) interaction(s) with a fuckhead (Vashad/JK), a tiny nap, and a day of work later, we’re still working. With stained hands, restless fingers, accidental spray paint highs, intentional adderall highs, and some sleep-induced delirium, here we are, still in the basement, always in the basement, still working, always working.
i always forget how much i love really strange experimental music until i start listening to it again.
happy day from me 2 u
(u might hate this)
having curly hair is like playing a really scary guessing game where you don’t know what it’s going to do until it does it and the only way to fix it is to take another shower
Hi, my name is Eleanor, I run a venue, I love your band and want to book you, I’m pretty sure my roommates hate me, what’s your name?
"maybe if i ignore my assignments they will magically go away" a college story“they didn’t” the riveting sequel
'And now everything is due in two and a half hours and I can't get enough caffeine' the third book in the trilogy