august 14 2024

My breakfast consists of two sour gummy worms, a ginger shot, a single Biscoff, and a green tea. We are heading to the studio, ready to spend the whole day locked the fuck in. My album is coming together. I feel like screaming. I feel like praying. I feel like having an orgasm. But not yet.

Darcy’s started going through 14mg pack of Zyns and I’m worried I’m responsible for this uptick in his nicotine consumption. We’ve been working nonstop. Our weeks go by in Ubers, airports, green rooms, stages, haunted hotels, and the studio. He tells me it’s okay, it’s not my fault. He tells me that he’s the only one responsible for his life and his choices. I can’t argue with that so I don’t.

In the Uber, for fun, I ask him about the time he dated Caroline Calloway. Apparently, it was hot news all throughout Melbourne. 

“Did you know she’s a triple Sag?” I ask him.

“I think maybe, in my soul, I knew.”

I cackle the rest of the drive. I think, maybe, in my soul I knew that this is how it would all come together.

The studio is in Hackney, by the water. We use the upstairs room the most often. Every day, I watch the sun go down through the big, wide windows and at the end of it all, I am so tired and I feel so satisfied.