I am currently lost in the wonderful meanderings of John Steinbeck's Travels With Charley: In Search of America. Each night I read a few pages in an effort to savor and enjoy each drop of poetic wisdom that drips from his fingers. I have such a fondness for John, I fear I may never recover my spirits enough to love another.
(Well, except for the occasional crush on Chicago basketball players sporting hair buns;
I promise my heart is not as fickle as it might appear)