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The season of lasts is upon us. Or me, at least.

Today was my last criminal justice class, last new life, and it is currently my last library late-night (that I am prolonging by using my time to tumble). But in this season that could be so sad, all I feel is peace and blessings.

Blessed by professors who believe in my dreams and my ability to achieve them,
And peace that I’m making the right decisions. 

Blessed by cookout trays and shared library tables with friends both new and old,
And peace that these friendships will continue despite distance.

Blessed with the chance to speak before my community; blessed by prayers and prophecies after,
And peace about the end of a beautiful season, then the beginning of something different, but every bit as good.

The Criterion Collection edition of your existence lists for $39.99 and, unlike the pathetic single-disc standard edition popular among misers and minimalists, contains nearly ninety-five hours of special features newly compiled by your friends, family, psychologist and personal trainer. The audio commentary was recorded in an amphitheater filled with everyone you’ve ever met, all of them equipped with microphones and directed to say everything they couldn’t or wouldn’t say, or ambiguously hinted at via misleading subtext, during their actual encounters with you. The deleted scenes, remastered and re-scored by David Lynch, make available for the first time every memory you’ve ever repressed or lost to too many drinks. Your parents consented to re-enact the scene of your conception for the ‘Making-Of’ featurette, which using your remote can be viewed from multiple angles, all of them (per your parents’ request) in extreme close-up. Your life now has a laugh-track option.

Critics are are already calling the Criterion Collection edition of your life “a sort of deadpan tragedy, an (admittedly extreme) reminder of the million little ways we waste away our lives—crying, sleeping, masturbating. The film can also be read as a critique of our web-dependent culture; the protagonist spends hours just sitting there, staring at a screen, and yet what, exactly, the protagonist is looking at remains a mystery to the viewer—it’s obscured by their head. One gets the eerie sense, mid-way through the film, that the protagonist is staring at nothing, is transfixed by nothing more than a glowing backlight,” and another critic said “four stars!”

• If the ad says “fun roommate wanted,” I’m probably not the kind of “fun” they’re looking for
• If someone stresses their need for “drama-free” roommates, there is a high likelihood that they, themselves, are the opposite.
• There are far more people in Winston-Salem named LuLu or KeKe than previously anticipated
• “rent negotiable in exchange for fwb”
• “We sometimes get together to play the wii but this is optional.”
• The one ad that seems perfect will never, ever, ever reply to your vast multitude of emails.