Story time, bear with me.
Last night I was sitting on the floor in Jack’s living room drawing while he packed his apartment. He found one of his lab notebooks from undergrad at MIT, and he’s like, “I’m going to throw this away.”
I can’t say what ANY of it meant, because physics and because nuclear engineering. But as I was looking through it I was like, you didn’t use half of the pages!
And he’s like, “Do you want it?” So I start drawing lettering in it real quick, in this notebook he hadn’t touched in five years. And he looks over and he’s like, “How did you DO that? I can’t imagine ever being able to do that!”
And I thought that was funny, because I was in awe of this book of handwritten notes, of problems solved that will never make sense to me, and supposedly what I was doing was unbelievable. We’re all different like that, huh?