I kind of like this picture; the vulnerability of the upturned page and the over-exposed blue ink; the fuzziness of huckleberry finn.

not the evening I hoped for: the weight of this week has been heavy and I anticipated great rest in the talking with my parents, the bread-baking, the sleeping in my own bed, the inevitiable salad and baby-holding. still! lizzie’s house tonight; you’ve got mail still carries all the magic of the scene when meg ryan exhales and says “I wanted it to be you, oh, I wanted it to be you so bad.” and somewhere over the rainbow begins playing. it’s snowing and I’ve been sketching and journaling like mad; praying that when my documents folder says “empty” on my computer, it’s all some kind of crazy optical illusion.

sam beam, joanna newsom, bob dylan, my-so-called-life. It’s still a precious friday night. one-hundred-twenty points if you can tell me where the title is from.