Hope Floats (Like Corpses)

My pop calls me—Sunday afternoon and again late Monday night. Both times:

"SO, what do you think about Bear Stearns?"

Both times, the conversation lasted about 30 seconds before I hung up.

Monday, news cameras swarmed the entrances to the building. Today, they've moved on.

NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING.

I went back to the old day job when the writers strike hit me. Post-strike, I intended to stick around till I got my writing career back on track. Soon, I may not have anything to stand on.

This week, I need to finish revising a spec TV pilot, touch base with my new theater agent and get my tax papers in order.

Oh, and Anthony Minghella just got a posse.

I hate everything right now.

Fuck you. Go away.