I have a really good memory. But I picked up an old copy of Djuna Barnes's strange and wonderful novel Nightwood today before teaching and realized, paging through it, that I had extensively annotated the entire book with my so-neat-it's-perverse block capital handwriting. And I had absolutely no recollection of having done so. I mean, I remembered reading the novel, just not with that level of attentiveness. I must have done it in the course of preparing for my graduate exams. Strange how that kind of studying fails to stick like the work you do for a specific purpose. Still, I can't help wondering if there was something about Nightwood in particular that led me to forget how much time I'd spent thinking about it. Some of my marginalia verge on the, "Tell me about it, girlfriend," variety.