I found these glasses outside a bar in Columbus and altruistically pocketed them, anticipating creating a craigslist: lost and found post later that night. I imagined a romantic scene of some bookish, absentminded type, squinting at his computer monitor to learn that his beloved frames were not lost forever, that soon he could reunite his eyeballs with their better half.

I've gotten lots of responses to my post but so far no inquirer has been a match for the poor dejected specs (dejecs?). Every e-mail in my inbox seems a chance at ocular bliss, and after so many near misses, it's beginning to really bum me out.

Mostly, though, I'm surprised at how many people have responded to a post for glasses found on a specific night outside a specific bar. What the hell, Columbus? Why can't this town juggle drinking and corrective eyewear?

So getting into this one class was the difference between a summer in Athens to complete one stinking four credit hour class and a summer in Columbus rife with employment, productivity, happy hour patios, friends, and all the lovely things that accompany population density. I was turned away several times by the very irritable and curmudgeonly instructor last quarter. It felt a lot like trying to talk to the gatekeeper in Emerald City. He insisted the class was full. When I pointed out that the computer showed availability for the class, he looked puzzled, tapped at his keyboard for a moment, then turned to me to say, "Well, not anymore!" This happened several times and each time was more embarrassing and frustrating than the last. Who rang that bell?

So when I stood outside his office today for one last attempt to fenagle a spot on the class roster, I was steeling myself for an epic battle. Keeping in mind the loneliness and eye-scratching-out boredom that would accompany an Athens summer, I was prepared to make this visit as socially awkward as necessary to ensure enrollment. I'm talking curling up in fetal position on the floor until he signed my class permission slip. I'm talking plugging my ears and screaming and making raspberries, making myself throw up and then telling uncomfortable stories about my childhood.

So I walked in, introduced myself unnecessarily, and stated my rehearsed case. He smiled at me and said he was sure there was a spot for me in the class, and do I have a pink slip he can sign?

Really? Not to mix metaphors here, but it was like I walked into Dr. Jekyll's office having only met his other, less personable, self. Sitting in his office, I began to sweat. Am I trapped in one of my anxiety dreams right now? This shouldn't be so easy. I brought my crossbow with me for no reason.

So I got into the class. How about that? Now that's a horse of a different color!

My landlady lived in this house for many years; first with her partner and after they divorced she began renting out the spare rooms to grad students. When she first showed me the house last spring, she was weepy at the thought of leaving it at all, moving in with her new mate in Columbus, abandoning the house she put so much effort into (it was uncomfortable). But, really, it'd be remiss to say that she's abandoned this house because vestiges of her old life are everywhere, driftwood and fossils and weird hippie art still adorn the windowsills and mantel. The basement houses backpacking equipment, tents, and a banana seat bike among many, many other odd things. Because she and B are old friends, she feels comfortable occasionally "dropping by" on a weekend to gather up some of her things that have suddenly become necessary and commit random acts of yardwork. At times, it feels very much like I'm crashing at an estranged great aunt's house: so impermanent, and I'm hesitant to move any little baubles and trinkets around.

Because this is my first (last, but first) year living in this place, the changing of the seasons keeps taking me by surprise. Surprised by sugar maple set aflame overnight in pink leaves last fall. Surprised by the view of the hills from my bedroom once the trees in the backyard lost all their leaves. Today I returned to Athens to find hyacinths, tulips, and daffodills lining the front yard and what appears to be asparagus and rosemary keeping a toehold on the steep face of the side yard.

I feel like I'd have to live here for several years to really know this place at all. Still, driving back today, I was negativity and dread on four wheels, wanting anything but to stay for another three months in this godforsaken town.

Surprise produce is enough to snap me out of a sour mood. Hello, asparagus. I will broil you with lemon juice and olive oil and eat you in front of the TV.

Erin hosted a brilliant St. Morrissey Day Feast. Noisy tables and way too much food is what's making me dread the trip east on 33 tomorrow.

Take me out tonight/where there's music and there's people and they're young and alive

First attempt at lemon meringue pie: B+

I fantasize about how when I'm out of school I'll have time to bake things and read classics and go for long runs through as-yet-unseen neighborhoods. I really hope that happens.

This will be the first fall that I don't go "back to school". Even though I'm a nerd at heart, I can't help but find that fact to be exhilarating.

Another great place to find gezelligheid is at a dive bar where your friends' band is playing. Even if their name shares a phonemic resemblance to a popular brand of personal lubricant.

It's been a tough couple of days. I keep being reminded of that Woody Allen quote from Annie Hall; I think it's something like "life is full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness - and it's all over much too quickly."

What else is there to do but to surround yourself with gezelligheid and get in the storm cellar with your friends while the winds outside swirl everything all to hell.

And that's what I've been doing. Seeing Ana and Lauren was so good I wanted to melt them down and shoot them up between my toes.