I love having friends who pushes me to my most optimal creative self. Especially someone who brings me to a house that is the love-child of tech money and creative freedom while I celebrate the fact that I took a baby step into getting my work published.
Somewhat.
The Living room/dining room, acoustically perfect for singing anime theme songs and shooting the shit about why and how I want to perceive myself with my adjectives and nouns is how I end my Monday of confusion and my own interesting (read: kooky) version of time management. Also, it’s brand new territory when I’m on the path to monetized the weird shit I bump out of my head. But at least it’s a start.
More and more, I’m liking the idea of being in Brooklyn, of having treasured friends and colleagues of strange trash panda fabulousness, but I can never see myself living here. But one day in the far off robot wife future, I want to be that jaded enough to travel and explore. Enough to be incredibly bored with the idea of just getting up and have forward momentum.
Man, this yuzu beer is getting to me. Maybe I should call it a night.
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