Social Warfare
Those of you following my increasingly difficult existence will remember the struggle I mentioned before.
I have this friend, she’s a wartime correspondent and she frequently tells me how hard her life is. The endless stories, the stress, the danger. Truth be told, I’m this close to ghosting her entirely because does she even understand what I deal with on a weekly basis? A battlefield of clubs, DJs, invitations, men, scheduling disasters and social obligations stacked on top of each other like emotional warfare in heels.
Take yesterday. There were multiple places I needed to be and somehow none of them respected physics, timing or my mental wellbeing. By the time I finally made it to Valmoor, balancing on one of my more irresponsible sets of heels, Invad3r was already dropping his final beats into the Boiler Room. I had missed most of it. Tragic. Still, the room made me feel at home. The lights, the atmosphere, the people staying for a while after the music faded. It settled me again for a moment. Enough to remember why I keep putting myself through this in the first place.
Naturally, I documented the small surviving fragment of the evening because if I don’t take photos, did any of it even happen? Honestly questionable.
Anyway, thank you again for being here for me during these unimaginably difficult times. I’ll review my weekend calendar soon, although from what I’ve heard it may already qualify as a humanitarian crisis.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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