By Karen Valby
Two things about my Sunday were making me sick. The first was Joshua Ferris' novel Then We Came to the End, whose mordantly funny story of job insecurity made me queasy and want to schedule doctors' appointments while I still had insurance. Then ??? good Christ, I was shaky from 4 o'clock on ??? then I had the finale of my favorite show to stare down. Wire finales are always killers, with montages that leave you red eyed like Nicky Sobotka. What would the Baltimore boys do to me tonight, and how would I unsplurch myself from the floor to write about my misery?