Aw, this is really sad.

After 19 years of marriage, Robin Williams’ wife, Marsha Garces Williams, has filed for divorce from the funnyman, citing irreconcilable differences. The couple have two children together: daughter Zelda, 18, and son Cody, 16.

I just think this really sucks. I like Robin Williams a lot, and he’s just had a really crappy string of years. His career’s tanking, he put in a stay in rehab, and now this? Some years are just like that, I guess. Just bad years. But it’s just disappointing to see a Hollywood marriage last this long and then fall apart. Does anyone stay married anymore? Ever? And why am I all like, “Dude, I have to get married ASAP if I ever want to be happy!” When the evidence points so very clearly to the fact that marriage almost never makes anyone at all happy? Why do we still live in a society that successfully pressures young women to engage in this ancient custom that has, today, virtually no meaning outside the scope of the law and even less sanctity? And why are we wasting so much time trying to prevent gay men and women from participating in the same empty gesture of legal paper-shuffling? Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night, so today you guys get random disaffected musings on society from me. Enjoy.

I wish all the best to them both.

Robin Williams arrived at the Late Show studios on Wednesday, as he’s the guest for Letterman’s return to television.

Letterman’s the first late-night host to come back since the writer’s strike.

I wonder if Robin’s gonna take shit from the WGA for agreeing to be on.

In the quiet, lapping wake of the notable non-success of RV, Robin Williams has “found himself drinking again,” after 20 years of sobriety, but is taking “proactive measures to deal with this for his own well-being and the well-being of his family,” his publicist said today.

I’m going to go easy on this, because, following Mel Gibson’s Jewgate, simply “finding oneself drinking again” seems like something minor overlooked, as in “I found myself substituting basil alone again, when the recipe clearly called for a full Italian spice mix.” This is much more respectable behavior than “I found myself zig-zagging down PCH at two in the morning, verbally annihilating the race group of people responsible for my employment, and calling someone ’sugar tits’ in earnest.”

Plus, Death to Smoochie was really, really funny.

I admire his choice to admit to his relapse, I congratulate him on successfully working a program for 20 solid years — as opposed to a certain raging Jew-hater who apparently spent most of 2001 hopping back and forth between bars and AA meetings — and I wish him the best of luck in his courageous journey back to health.