4:00 am – am I up at 4 am or have I not slept? I don’t know as I have spent the last few hours in a Tay Tay-induced anxiety cocoon. I have now emerged a stress-afly. Ready to wreak havoc on anyone who stands in my way.
4:00 – 7:00 am – prepare for battle. I have coerced everyone who has ever loved in life to give me a device of some sort. In front of me are my weapons – iPhones, tablets, and laptops. I shall use them to slay my opposition and ride triumphantly into Taytopia.
7:00 am – the cavalry arrives. A crack team of Swiftie saddos who will help man the devices with me. My friend Alyce tells me she’ll have to pop out at about midday to see her nan in hospital. I lock myself in the toilet scream-crying and telling her she’s dead to me.
7:30 am – I finally emerge and tell her that it’s OK. She can go and see her nan but not bother coming back. Ever. I then instruct the girls to strap on an adult nappy. No interruptions
8:00 am – it has begun. We listen to my special Taylor Swift playlist that I spent several days compiling. Every song is in the perfect order. Specially designed for an 8-hour session trying to buy tickets.
9:00 am – I admittedly do not react well to being several million behind in the queue. I gently remind everyone that if I don’t get tickets then I’ll take a cheese grater to my Tay Tay ankle tattoo. Everyone knows the stakes.
9:30 am – I soil my nappy for the first time. It won’t be the last. (More on concert nappies here)
9:00 – 11:00 am – We remain positive by discussing what we will wear to the concert. I notice one of the girl’s voice has the undeniable whimper of defeat in it. I tell her she makes me fkn sick and that Taylor will notice me.
11:30 am – it has become apparent the tickets have sold out and we will need to do this again on Friday. I wonder how I’ll make ends meet with two sickies this week. I then soil my nappy again. Not through necessity but through pure, blind rage.
12:00 pm – Judas tells me she has to go. She is of no use to me anyway. I silently sit staring at her until she leaves. I’ll find the most disgusting photos of her for her next birthday collage. This isn’t over.
12:30 pm – ring my partner at work and complain for 45 whole minutes about the ordeal I have been through. I tell him if he really loved me he’d bring me a Zinger Box with a side of concert tickets. He asks why I can’t go get lunch. I tell him I have to be ready for a surprise ticket drop.
1:30 pm – my partner arrives home with the goods. I ask him where the tickets are. The smell of KFC and 4 girls in soiled nappies cause him to dry heave so violently that he goes red in the face. He scurries off back to work. Can’t handle what fandom really looks like.
2:00 pm – we clean ourselves up and run a steam mop over the floor. Now my living room doesn’t resemble a barn. We decide to drown our sorrows at a bar.
3:00 pm – this bartender clearly has had a gutful of our crying and singing. I no longer can control what comes out of my mouth. Sometimes it’s lyrics, sometimes it’s wailing. I am not OK.
4:00 pm – I return home and add a very angsty entry to my Taylor Swift scrapbook. Declaring my life over and relating to her sorrows. I am 27 years old.
4:50 pm – I have now put dresses on my cats and we are enjoying a Taylor Swift concert of our own. To pad out the crowd I put a cat dress on a Watermelon too. My partner once again walks in at an inopportune time and struggles to process what he’s seen.
5:30 pm – leave several regrettable comments on Taylor Swift posts. I’m sure my Aunty will be ok with being called a ticket stealing skank for getting some before me. I am sure we can all heal one day.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
