Bizarre. I feel like I just found a huge hole in my library where I thought I had a set of an author's works and instead there's nothing there except for a dust jacket.
And as for the girl who wants me to tell her where I got my signet ring ... I thought I had my whole life documented but apparently not.
Some day I'm going to get all mentally together and have a strong look at the rather recent parts of my life when I've been most depressed and be shocked at just how many of these gaps there are. At least I'm not having those weekend depression benders where I lay on the couch because I'm too depressed to move and after a month suddenly realize I can't remember a single day of the last thirty.