I've become mildly obsessed with (OK, I took about an hour to read and follow links on this beautifully written and annotated article about) the "Theresa Duncan Tragedy." It was a little spooky when I realized in my long runs on this vacation, from Asbury Park to Sea Girt, I was going past the place they found what's thought to be her husband's body.
Of course, my original interest was entirely solophistic, in keeping with the tenor of the case...oooh, look at all we have in common! A neurotic lady blogger type with a hot young husband, early "promise" never quite fulfilled, mind so dizzyingly referential it could spin knots into her own fine hair. Luckily, I've never been quite so noted or noticed, and though my husband's hot, neither has he.
So after sifting through all I could stand to, all I could think was, girl, you deserved a better judge than the one that handed you that life sentence. A just judge would have heard the case and said: "The quite commonplace discovery that the world's estimation of one's genius does not equal one's own high regard is the stuff of comedy, not tragedy. I hereby sentence you to at least 10 years of long walks, volunteer work, blogging and fucking your husband as much as possible. Go home and get your head straight. Next case!"
Instead, two gone. Infuriating.