I was just looking at my pathetic old journals. An entry from my senior year of college, Nov. 15, 1992, says:

6:30 a.m. When I am reading this in 1995, where will I be? NY? NJ? PA? DC? Calif -- no, never mind. Ugh! The sour taste of indecision.

By writing in this journal, do I really help get myself a job and published? No. I just write incredibly boring passages.

Okay, by Wednesday I will have something interesting to put in here. If not, I'll just have to hang myself.

7:11 p.m. -- Bill's got some real young-uns working for him. Geo Stephanopolous & Dee Dee Myers are only 31!

[Note: for you sensitive types, I meant the hanging thing as a joke. Thank you.]