A Great Good Friday

Last night was a very enjoyable night. Dear Xackary threw a party/basement show at which everyone was told to dress like the pictures Dear J. Grant had posted on Facebook of shamans and sheiks and children in tuxedos and gypsies and Devendra Banhart. I wore a giant headdress. Kath Forrester and Lyndsey were gypsies. J. Grant was a sort of shaman? Analiese was an awkward nymph. Ferris looked like a 1980s flapper. I wore a giant headdress that made it difficult to put on my harmonica harness. Xack's friend Owen Nicolas (who I guess is really named Tyler?) played last. His girlfriend played this awesome old keyboard and the glockenspiel and sometimes sang along while he played the acoustic guitar and sang while stomping on a tambourine, all without microphones. It was super enjoyable. He sounded like the lead singer of Okkervill River playing vaguely punk inspired folk songs.

After the party dissipated, most of us went to Steak n Shake where we were greeted by no shortage of great reactions. But what do you expect when you walk in wearing this?




















Homework is coming along about as I expected, which is not nearly as well as I'd hoped. There are still two days.

I've been the only person in my house the past three days. And it's been a lot better than I was expecting. I usually hate being by myself because 1) I don't like who I am when no one's watching and 2) when I'm by myself I have to face how much I don't like myself. But both of those issues are significantly lifting. I've actually kind of liked being by myself this weekend. I'm supposed to go to my parents' house tonight, but I'm second guessing that, honestly. I like staying here just fine. I get to listen to my records loudly and paint into all hours of the night.

I'm realizing that a lot of my insecurities don't have any basis to them but are merely a product of unfortunate experiences and my own tendency to overthink everything. But that doesn't mean they have any less of an effect on me. Yet.