Caught a ride back to Columbus with Sjan tonight. She teaches during the day and takes classes at night, I go to school during the day and do research in the evenings. We see each other more than we ever have, but, still, we don't see each other all the time.

Another development in Sjan's awesome AfricaAthenscooperativegreeneverybodyholdhandsandstandinacircle wedding. She is having Passion Works
, a local nonprofit art studio where artists with and without severe developmental disabilities collaborate to make outstanding jewelry, paintings and sculptures, do the bouquets and table decorations out of recycled paper. It all just makes my bleeding heart sing.

Dude, tell me about it, Athena Cinema.

Ana was kind enough to forward my paychecks from working at the restaurant over break to my Athens address. The checks totaled roughly the cost of the bridesmaid dress for Sjanneke's wedding, which I went ahead and bought online.

This was the first day that I had to break out my snow boots this season. When I went to put them on, there was a wine cork inside the left shoe. I at once have no idea how that happened and know exactly how that happened.

-or-

Apparently, my friends are getting married and I'm just getting wine-drunk.

I went to my first ever yoga class today. I was suspicious.

In fact, when we were first instructed to close our eyes, my basal level of spaz had me so tightly coiled that I literally could not get my eyes to shut. I just sat there, looking through my eyelashes like a kid cheating at Heads Up Seven Up. In retrospect, I guess no one could use some yoga more than a girl who's all bent out of shape because she can't close her eyes.

An hour and a half later of stretching and pushing and "orienting my pelvic crests toward the earth" or whatever bullshit, I was basically a puddle of contentment on the floor. Surprise nonconsensual face massage aside, that class was the best thing that's happened so far in 2009.

Living 90 miles apart has been mostly good for Nick's and my relationship. There is much to be said for not being up in someone's face 24/7 and there's even more to be said for tragically and affectionately missing somebody.

That said, there is still squabbling. This particular argument was taking place through e-mails. It was about cheese. Really.

I always feel like gmail's smart ads are mocking me, though. Really? My whiny pleas to Discuss Things that are Important To Me seem like bad poetry? Touché, Google.

A Dube salad that doesn't look like shit! Quick, somebody buy a lottery ticket.

The Dube is a Columbus mainstay. The pre-smoking ban Dube was a different entity altogether, the place was a constant peasouper of bluish tobacco smoke and the service was deplorable. Charlie used to say, "Think of it as a theme restaurant, where the theme is everyone hates you." The new Dube is good, too, just different. The food is still terrible but the drinks are cheap and the servers are smiley and you don't have to immediately take a shower upon leaving. Sure, sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, but you can achieve Regular Status at the Dube without also being an alcoholic. So that's nice.

Nick could eat there for every meal, and towards the end of college, I was beginning to wonder if he and I should start paying them rent. It became a little tedious for me. Think Liz's feelings toward the Winchester in Shaun of the Dead.

Now, when I'm in town, going there is like going home. I'm always overjoyed to settle into a booth, pluck suspicious hairs out of my salad, and finish a crossword with Nick.