
Considering the date that I’m publishing this, it kinda stings.
It feels silly to think of this as such a big deal every time I fill a journal, but it still does.
Glasses are the worst (to draw). Next up I’m gonna ride my bicycle every day, buy fifteen horses, and start dating a skeleton who loves to dance in a very specific style requiring exact choreography that people will easily be able to point out if I’m faking it.
Boundaries.
Just like in dating, if someone approaches me with the stink of desperation, it isn’t exactly appealing. And I accept that this defensiveness I have surrounding my time and talents may be a tad dickish, but … I’m okay with that.
Super weird.
A job is a job. Right?
Right?
Parties, bars, even once at OMSI. I get overloaded, I pull out my notebook, and I scratch away at something.