Sometimes I hate dreams that feel too real. I had a dream once that I was outside some dingy bar taking a million selfies with Alex Turner, I mean like iPhone’s feature where you just hold down the button and it takes bursts of photos. I woke up at about 6am and I checked my phone for the supposedly hundreds of photos and when I didn’t find them, I didn’t think ‘oh, that must’ve been a dream,’ instead I thought the next logical explanation would be 'oh, they must be on Alex’s camera roll’. The struggle is real.
Just trying to dig myself out from under my Uni work and I’m working every night until midnight this week until Thursday. This week (and last) has been that busy that I’ve yet to see new Hannibal, and I’ve missed heaps of Colbert. This feels wrong.
Then Friday night is Arctic Monkeys in Melbourne… and then Saturday morning I’m flying out to Adelaide for Arctic Monkeys there so… You can be sure I’ll have heaps of photos by Sunday.