heymikewaskom:

So the first thing I thought when I realized that it is David Foster Wallace’s birthday was, “Put a candle in the window,” And so, I allowed myself to sit for a few minutes and be sad, mainly for the many selfish reasons and excuses that we give when we hear of someone’s suicide: “But he had so much to offer!”, “His poor family,” etc. We’re mad, because we don’t have that person any longer, we don’t have what they gave us. Perhaps we’re righteously angry about this, but maybe not?

The hard truth is, that people don’t hang themselves by accident, and conversely they don’t write thousand plus page novels accidently. David choose to write, and we accepted that as his choice. He choose to remove himself from this world, which we too, must accept.

And so I think to myself, “As long as I can see the light”, which means whatever you need it to mean for you, right now.

I’m Reading Infinite Jest.