How do you deal with The Coachella Blues?

[MondayBox]

This is my 3rd post Coachella depression and it never gets easier. What do you guys do to cope with it?
Beer and music?

[ods..]

Recordings of sets and more festivals/shows. Beer and music helps.

[MondayBox]

My friends never understand the sadness we experience after it's over. I know we'll get over it by next week, but still.

[Bonovan]

I Remember.....

[Andrew 619]

Tell everyone about your experience even though they may not care. Eventually you'll get tired of telling the story...and boom coachella depression gone

[MondayBox]

You invest so much time to plan everything, and it finally happens, you have the time of your life, and then BAM it's over. And it's like..."now what?"

[crombrenner]

I spend a few weeks gathering recordings from the show and reliving all the amazing moments. Then I print out the outside lands lineup and begin my research for that one.

[RedHotSgtPeppers]

Furiously masturbate in public.

[Michelle760]

Oh god...I can't wait for next year!!!

[KC Accidental]

go to local shows..

[theGold]

Plan the next one, start looking for new music, go to shows. The good thing is that summer is right around the corner... Think of Coachella as a kick-off to that. Many more good times ahead.

[gaypalmsprings]

eat moar chocolate cupcakes

[bluecheese]

i dunno about all you guys but Coachella is my one and only festival of the year so i just gotta deal with it! besides nothing else really compares.

[MondayBox]

Parks and Rec can fix anything.

[malcolmjamalawesome]

5HTP

[guedita]

Usually a solid four days of drooling all over my pillow in a frenetic sleep, waking up morose and just sort of palming that drool all over my face in some sort of half-wakefulness stupor, then glaring at myself in the mirror and engaging in an internal monologue in which I berate myself for being such a pathetic waste of matter.

[thelastgreatman]

... somebody get this girl a blanket and a cup of cocoa.

[thelastgreatman]

It sounds like you were recovering from raping yourself.

[guedita]

Eventually, I muster up the energy to fix myself a cup of tea.

But then I smash the cup on the floor and let the hot water scald my bare feet because I need to feel alive again.

[thelastgreatman]

Eventually, I muster up the energy to fix myself a cup of tea.

But then I smash the cup on the floor and let the hot water scald my bare feet because I need to feel alive again.

I feel a little strange, but probably not as strange as I should, that something about this kinda aroused me. Like if my dick talked, it would have gone, "Mmmmmmm... damaged goods..."

[guedita]

Then it should also be noted that for the duration of all of these coping methods, I wear a shimmery negligee that flutters in the wind as I stand, contemplating my sad and lonely state of affairs.

[thelastgreatman]

... for some reason it'd be hotter if it was less sentimental and more demented. Like, wearing the dress and sitting under a pier for hours with your back against a pylon, repeatedly throwing your head back into the dense wood and mumbling angrily to yourself.

[guedita]

Well. I mean, I stand in said negligee in front of the refrigerator, staring blankly at an expired carton of milk.

[thelastgreatman]

Going through an entire loaf of bread, cutting all the crusts off in advance with a pair of garden shears.

[guedita]

Unwrapping an entire bag of baby bell cheeses and then balling up the red wax into a giant ball and trying to stuff it down my throat.

[thelastgreatman]

Starting violent fistfights with your own dog just to get it to bite you hard enough.

I could totally do this all day, but sadly I have to go to work.

[guedita]

It's so lovely to laugh again.

[thelastgreatman]

I know, I missed me too.

[frizzlefry]

Usually a solid four days of drooling all over my pillow in a frenetic sleep, waking up morose and just sort of palming that drool all over my face in some sort of half-wakefulness stupor, then glaring at myself in the mirror and engaging in an internal monologue in which I berate myself for being such a pathetic waste of matter.

Eventually, I muster up the energy to fix myself a cup of tea.

But then I smash the cup on the floor and let the hot water scald my bare feet because I need to feel alive again.

Then it should also be noted that for the duration of all of these coping methods, I wear a shimmery negligee that flutters in the wind as I stand, contemplating my sad and lonely state of affairs.

Well. I mean, I stand in said negligee in front of the refrigerator, staring blankly at an expired carton of milk.

Unwrapping an entire bag of baby bell cheeses and then balling up the red wax into a giant ball and trying to stuff it down my throat.

It's so lovely to laugh again.

These look like subtitles to a French vignette in black and white

[guedita]

Well done, champ. You correctly identified a blatantly obvious trope.