i’ve been accused of being a social recluse these last couple of months. what can i say? i happen to enjoy my own company. i like spending time with me. i’m fun. i have way more fun chilling by myself than putting on five layers of clothes, getting soaked to the kneecaps with a combination of snow and rain, freezing in temperatures nobody should be made to go through, to hang out for five hours somewhere surrounded by a bunch of drunken hipsters all wearing american apparel and those glasses everybody made fun of you for wearing back in the 80s.
i like my apartment. it’s awesome. and warm. and it has good vibes. and heating. it also has my library, my laptop, my bass, and a trunk of diy projects that i keep meaning to complete. i’m always busy at home, and never bored.
and i don’t think i’m being anti-social. my flat has a social life of its own, that hardly involves me. it’s rare that a day passes by without people stopping over randomly, whether for a quick coffee and a chat or to spend the night. i love having people over, but my tropical ass is not leaving this house without a good enough reason.