Poor David Foster Wallace, poor everybody.

All of us in the same boat, to the extent we think much about it anyway, another one overboard, crap.

Feeling damp & wretched, been doing some light duty cleaning in preparation for next weekend's guests.

Worry, pity, relief that it's not really my problem, it's where I'm at, more often than not.

Funny show tunes emanating from upstairs, an emblem of always, among so many others.

Not sure what to do with myself, have a cigarette, maybe.