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// now playing: wicked ones – dorothy
Hello spring. My have you certainly sprung. I’m seated at a makeshift desk, composing this piece a day early as I just wont have time to do so tomorrow. Thing is, it was such a beautiful day and I spent far too much of it enjoying that resplendence. And too much sunshine seems to have fried my brain. I think it’s in shock after experiencing so much unadulterated warmth, the kind so unlike that typical Melbourne weather which it is infamous for. I’ve got tasks piling up, deadlines coming to a close and I just can’t get myself motivated enough to tackle it all. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve succumbed to tomfoolery over on Snapchat (you can find me on soniademacedo, if you’d like). The kind involving, lip-synching, head banging and a pair of aviators. And I can’t believe I am going to say this but, if you’re quick you might be able to catch that descent into madness on Snapchat by adding me if you haven’t already. Apologies to my family, friends and followers for that cringeworthy show of crazy. I’m not usually like this; openly that is.
My mind is a fog, much like the kind we’d experienced and dealt with for the past several weeks. I just can not find words to express much else nor will my mind conjure up anything remotely elaborate. There’s just a loud banging of drums and the screeching of an electric guitar, a cathartic rhythm perpetually on repeat in my mind. It even made a grand appearance in my dreams late last Monday night. This song by Dorothy will probably be on repeat in my mind as we speak; and probably well into the next week too. Since encountering it, I can’t seem to cease its sound. Not that I want it to terminate. You see there is something mischievously satisfying about it, like Red Bull gives you wings (apparently), this song gives you one badass alter-ego (truth).
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metaphoric love child of debbie harry and stevie nicks. weaver of words. infatuated with shoes.
