Well, hello, Dreamers
It's me: the Weaver.
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Life Update:
Right now I'm sitting at the front desk of a lobby with a trickling fountain while soothing spa music filters through the mesh, Chinese-style screens. My brain is filled with the heavy scent of a lavender bouquet and, somewhere in the next room over, a woman is receiving a relaxing facial to the soundtrack of the forest.
Yep. New job perks: constant poetic atmosphere, coupled with green tea and potpourri. Is this job going to further my career? Nah. But you cant beat discount professional facials and spa products.
This morning, I drove to Fremont reluctantly, having skipped out on the end of this weekend's forest extravaganza: a group of us spent the night in Galen's cabin-in-the-woods--after dinner and a late-night-lake-hike where we chased echoes beneath the glow of the moon. But this atmosphere soothes in a similar way: low-stress, muted greenery, and the freedom to write poems and stories all day.
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Happy Labor Day tomorrow. What is that holiday for?
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