Wet Dog in the Apartment? Nope. I Processed Film, Bitch.

OHMYGODOHMYGODLOOKWHATWEDIDIFEELSOAWESOME.
Dec. 2 @ the apartment.

Due to someone's particular disability I had the great opportunity of being the rolling-the-film-on-the-coily-wheel-thingy-and-not-be-liable-for-any-damages girl. Turns out I wasn't too bad at the job and we ended up processing 10 rolls of 35mm film. I was very psyched. So psyched the developing container cracked (you can imagine me here walking around giggling, shouting and shaking the container profusely, splashing the apartment with D-76, KodaFix and Hypo).

This is NOT our toilet. But it's in our apartment.

When I had dreads.

I feel pretty good about the whole thing.

Now in dry clothes, with hands that still smell of darkroom (aka. the kitchen and the maid's bathroom) I am filled with the satisfaction of knowing that I can actually process film (I tried once in college and that was it for me. Too much trauma).

I missed using my hands. I only say this because the only things my fingers tend to work on these days are the dishes and my keyboard (and maybe the capture button on my phone and cameras). I actually consider doing the dishes more enjoyable. I think I work and perform better when I move but I don't pay as much attention to this since most things in life at present revolve around my macbook.

Looking through the 10 rolls of film hung in a dingy bathroom was probably the most pleasurable and satisfying thing I've done this week.