I was on and off depressed all Sunday about David Foster Wallace. That was truly a person who spent most of his time thinking. He even did a commencement address that was basically about How To Think. He was a compulsive thinker. And eventually he thought, "I'm going to hang myself." That makes me uncomfortable; I feel dreadful about it, actually.
Also, the financial world is collapsing. This morning I took all my money out of savings in order to throw it into the stock market.
I've had pains in my legs all weekend. They got worse and worse but now they seem to be better. On Sunday, Ned and I finished a draft of the script we've been working on. Then we drank a bottle of Champagne. I did not do enough thinking about Strangelets. There was some thinking done about a new project, Lesbian Die Hard in a Hotel Pool. My friend took me shopping. I show up on fundrace now. Reading A Man in Full. Anxious, very anxious.