After months of hibernation, my feverish lust for Bob Dylan's songwriting is back. In the past two days, he's almost all I've listened to, with a hint of Beck here and there.

But Damn. Blood on the Tracks = the best lyrically written record of the 20th century.

Tomorrow is another day, with some work to look forward to so I can get out of the house for a good 4 or so hours. Lately I've been a hermit in my bedroom.

Today is the first day of Sping. I wish the season were actually here so I can get out and exercise and have fun, but the most recent snowfall killed the recent hope that we had. I want to go on hikes, drive around with the windows down, play frisbee, throw a baseball, and enjoy the sunshine. Go away, winter.

This message has been brought to you by Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts.