why-bless-your-heart:

Classmate: “Could I commission you to illuminate a prayer for me?”

Me, acting like I haven’t fantasized about being a medieval monk in a cool, dim scriptorium laboring over sacred texts with only the faint sound of a scratching quill pen and the occasional tap in the inkwell while the choir practices in the distance and every now and again the soft shuffle of sandaled footsteps as I carefully measure out the precious blue for Our Lady’s robe and wonder how far I’ll get before being called for Vespers since I was a bean sprout listening to Jim Weiss narrating The Story of the World: “Well, I’m pretty busy… tell you what, send me the details and I’ll get back to you with an estimate.”