My friend and former student N.E. has moved into the apartment on the top floor of our house. Today we had the following email exchange:
On 7/25/06 at 9:47 a.m., N.E. wrote: Whatever, I’m tired and spacey and have a ridiculous backlog of work and woke up with the finale of Jane Eyre: The Musical in my head.
On 7/25/06 at 10:52 a.m., Faustus wrote: I’m shocked that you retained even a note of the finale of Jane Eyre.
On 7/25/06 at 11:12 a.m., N.E. wrote: Isn’t it depressing?
On 7/25/06 at 1:58 p.m., Faustus wrote: Yes.
On 7/25/06 at 2:16 p.m., N.E. wrote: I could just kill myself. Then you could tell everyone who visits your house that someone once committed suicide on the top floor. (“Ooh, when?” “Last Tuesday.”)