not if your shirt is a mullet. tank top in the front, cardigan in the back

Take your porny backbeat, admit your masculinity is threatened by direct eye contact with the timpani, and be done with it, you fucking hack. You’re a COWARD.

What the hell is this, a middle school band concert? Is the entire drumline out sick with the flu from a shared mountain dew at the last pep band, and the only hope to keep your battalion of tweens on a semblance of a beat the assistant gym coach who drummed in a garage band for a year and a half?

I’m very sad most days. I sometimes feel like I’m less person and more latticework of grief

I probably shouldn’t have to defend grouping the loss of animals with my grandmothers, but I will. Our dog had been a member of our family for 16 years and the cat was a feral I spent 2 years befriending and taking care of on a daily basis

That said, Patrick Page and Amber Gray will forever be *the* Hades and Persephone, at least in my mind

I don’t think I’ve heard a Hermes I dislike, but Melanie La Barrie’s Trinidadian accent in that role stirs this intensity of emotion I can’t quite name. Similarly, Dónal Finn’s irish Orpheus evokes such a beautiful-hopeful-melancholy

Last time was such a bad stick that this next one is guaranteed to be bad enough just from anxiety

FINALLY someone else is stressed about this! I usually file super early but I’m apprehensive, to say the least 😵‍💫

(A rehearsal piano accompaniment track for “On My Own” from Les Misérables was playing in the office building at work today) ((I think I’ve rehearsed and performed that song so many times that recognizing any iteration of it lives beyond my bones))