"A Moveable Feast"

Reading Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast” makes me feel better about staying home all day and writing. It’s not lazy. I’m a working author. I haven’t had a moment of quiet at home, on my computer, with no distractions in a week. So tomorrow I’d like nothing better than to sleep in, make a big cup of instant coffee (yup, that’s all I get) and not do shit. Right now I always feel pressure to go out, see stuff, take pictures, EXPERIENCE PARIS!!!! When does that feeling go away? Will it ever feel like home? I doubt it.

So I’m definitely staying in Friday night, because Saturday I am going to a house party. Mike, a short bro I met at petanque, invited a group of us. But I’m mostly going because it is ridiculously close to where I live. My only standard for going out is that it must be close, and cheap. No idea what the crowd will be, but I’m actually looking forward to it. I’m pretty proud of myself for going out there, talking to strangers, answering emails, doing cheesy shit like meetup.com. It’s like the more you do it the easier you gets. And, really, once you’ve met around twenty people, you connect with their friends and then your work is done. Sure, I’d like someone I could really connect to (on a friend level) but I’m happy for now.