If only John McCauley from Deer Tick knew just how much he fucked up my life. Relationships with musicians are generally one-sided, which I completely accept. This is because, in the normal relationship between fan and band, one can: obsess over one track while doing the dishes, crying and shitting and and sorting out your life. It's a reliable friend that you never have to even ask to come over. The person who you've found to have the same sensibilities as you, the same taste in molding (a light shade in an ogee pattern perhaps?). Of course, an artist may have to make some sacrifices for you. There might be some introspection involved. It's all a spooky process, I'm sure; but I don't have to see any of it. I keep my distance. Even at shows you feel like there can't possibly be any way for you to communicate with the artist just how much she has supported you, so you keep it to yourself.

Except with John, because he was here and he made a fucking mess. He made a mess and left, and I'm beginning to wonder if he even really exists. Maybe it was just a bad dream.

Long story short: I was disappointed and angry, everybody else was loud on drugs, and now some gnarly bro wants to kill my boyfriend.