Poor DFW

Ugh. So sad to hear about David Foster Wallace. I really liked his stuff (although I don't think I finished Infinite Jest, despite a friend urging me on). I still remember picking up Girl With Curious Hair, not really knowing anything about him. There was a story about an actor going on David Letterman that was hilarious and brilliant - at least, I remember it that way. He was also the guest editor of the 2007 Best American Essays, and at first I was not pleased with his choices. They seemed like too much work. I wanted easy, clever essays. These were on a different level, requiring my full attention. His introduction was, of course, extensively footnoted, and he questioned the whole point of choosing the "best" essays. In the end, I enjoyed most of his choices, and appreciated that he didn't just pick the most popular kids of the essay world, as I would surely have done. Now I'm remembering that I had been meaning to check out his collection Consider the Lobster, since I liked the title essay when it appeared in, I think, Gourmet. I guess I still can, right?

Just sad, though. Not like he didn't come across as the depressed type, but it is still shocking when someone who seems to have reached so many of his goals makes the choice to kill himself. Like I know what his goals were, or anything about him, or that it's even a choice! Ha. Silly. Anyway, I obviously put writers on some kind of pedestal, or at least I put The Writing Life on that pedestal. I imagine that if you are able to not only make your living that way, but also be widely lauded for your talent, that would be everything. It's like I missed the Literature 101 class about tortured, depressed, yet successful artists.

It rained all weekend. I stayed home and nursed my cold, except for the hours when I hunched over in the rain, bailing water that was about to stream into my parents' basement.