Nick's shrapnel crash cymbal. Now that his and Jason's maybe-we're-a-band is playing a maybe-it's-a-gig next Friday, Nick finally had a reason to retire the ol' guy and replace it with a shinier, more, you know, circular new hire. I suggested that we hang it up as art, then realized it's maybe too dangerous to have on the wall where it could come loose and decapitate houseguests. (But not too dangerous to play on?)

Hey Lauren. You're a grown-ass woman. It looks good on you.

Happy birthday.

Today I drove to Newark, Ohio to conduct super secret business.

This craigslist purchase did not result in me getting locked in a sex dungeon and did result in me not being empty-handed for Nick's very imminent birthday. Batting 1000.

Ana's front stoop has these storybook vines that sneak up from the yard, vein the threshold with heart-shaped leaves and completely ensnare the doorjamb and mailbox. It's beautiful and a little bit creepy, like any good children's story should be.

Gulia is moving in with Ana soon and I will make a habit of being at their place as much as possible. Nick and Jason are kind enough to take in this weary traveler for the summer months, but I still can't figure out what to do in the fall. Living alone seems expensive and, well, alone-ly.

Today my journalistic duties took me to a diner in Pickerington where Nick met me and we ate apple pie and did the crossword. Not bad.

I've obviously been complaining about graduate school for several months now. Something that happens when you expresses dissatisfaction with a certain harrowing stage of life is that people are really excited to tell you how much you'll certainly miss it when it's over. For what it's worth, expressing that sentiment as a sort of pre-emptive "I told you so" has zero effect on making that person take stock of their situation and finding solemn appreciation for its hardships. ZERO EFFECT. I will miss Athens, and the nebulous sense of "this part of my life". Will I miss the vague sense of being challenged intellectually? Will I miss the unmerited feeling of superiority that accompanies doing something that people assume to be difficult? I really, really don't think so.

Sometimes watching the Cavs is great because King James wings the ball from half-court with less than a second left to win the game.

But a lot of the time, watching the Cavs feels like this.

The hot months bring babies in sunhats, dogs in bandanas, and friends on blankets calling the rain's bluff and I wonder how I will be able to handle a summer full of squinting babies and dapper dogs and sweaty, foul-mouthed paladins without my heart buckling like paper plate and too much casserole.