Tonight I left my hat in a pub, and was reminded of the time I accidentally left my journal in a bar in Cambridge. I was able to get the hat back the same night, but I had to pick up the journal the next day, and the behavior of the staff gave me the distinct impression that it had not been sitting untouched in the lost and found box with the gloves and umbrellas.

The memory inspired me to flip through said journal, where - among a great deal of whining about rehearsals and sleep deprivation - I found entries like these:

03/08/1995 03:00 p.m.
Sure, I looked attentive, but I was really just concentrating on trying to taste the pepper in peppermint.

03/22/1995 11:20 p.m.
M said I would marry "an old, fat, Texan rancher" - the Magic Eight Ball agreed, "YES".

04/05/1995 06:30 p.m.
"Ensign, steer this boat into a big rock."
"Aye aye, Cap’n."

04/27/1995 12:15 p.m.
I was overcome by the urge to buy yellow sticky notes and a fine-tipped calligraphy pen. I think it’s because my shoes, although monstrously clunky, are too tight.

Did I mention the sleep deprivation?