Yesterday, I came home from an appointment to find my boyfriend organizing one of my closets and watching Sybil, a classic movie in which Sally Field plays a character with over a dozen disparate personalities. While a profoundly disturbing and touching film, it also features moments where these personalities speak in Exorcist-like screeches and burst into off-key songs such as “Easter Parade.” I had gone into my bedroom with my laptop computer to make progress on some long-overdue work, but these bits of soundtrack reached me even there and pierced me like a drill.

“Easter Parade” was the last straw. I burst out of the bedroom and stared at Rob, who started laughing at what I was clearly thinking. “This has to stop!” I announced, switching off the television.

“I was just procrastinating from doing my own work anyway,” he said. Suddenly very brusque, he jumped to his feet and left the apartment with barely another word. I spent the night alone with Goblin and a preternaturally organized closet.