Because they won’t fit in any other entries:
I just found out that a girl I had sex with during my October of Debauchery (during senior year at Sarah Lawrence) is now a lesbian. It is hard not to take this personally. Call it narcissistic, or call it a fallacy (post hoc ergo propter hoc), but cause and effect seem to implicate me here. At least I now have an explanation for why she wasn’t interested in hooking up again.
I recently noticed a strange subjective phenomenon: when I’m working on a paper, I can’t quite envisage life existing past that paper. For example, I was working late into the night on a Dickens paper on the night before Kill Bill opened. A bunch of us, including a visiting Julie, were planning to watch it opening night. When I finished the paper and turned it in, I thought, “Oh, good, we can go see Kill Bill after all”–as if, had I not finished the paper, I would never be heard from again, or space-time would be interrupted in some way.
By the way, everyone has seen Kill Bill, yes? Because it’s totally hot? I just bought the soundtrack to the first one, and I’ve decided that there should be an Oscar for Best Soundtrack. I think Quentin Tarantino would win a lifetime achievement award for it.