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I think I see Pam, or at least a woman with red hair. I should at
least say hello.

§

It makes sense that David Foster Wallace was depressed. You spend too
much time thinking-

About the universe, people, what it all means-
It's going to bum you out. You're going to write thousands
and thousands of manic pages, in an attempt for it to mean something,
anything-

And you burn Out. The treatment can be worse than the sick-
ness. You have to give up your oldest and closest friend, even if it's not
good for you. Even if you don't really want to get better.

Because you never know if you're going to stay better.

§

For once, I was able to answer my cell phone before it went to
voicernailIrs a good thing, considering that it's not the kind of message
that one wants to leave or receive via voicemail. I can't imagine that
my voicemail message would've offered Diane much time to compose
herself

I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID, which is to be expected.
"Hello?"

"Yes,Sarah?" asks a woman's voice, shaky. "This is, urn, Diane, uh, Wise-
man. I don't know if you remember me, but _ "
"I do. He's dead isn't he?"

I hear crying. I suppose I have my answer.
"Do you need me to help pay for it?"

§

You learn more about people after they die than you ever do when
they're alive.

Autopsies don't lie.
An analysis of stomach contents is worth at least a thousand words.
Scalpels don't forget your birthday. Y-incisions don't abandon you.

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