Every stupid, miserable word that falls from my mouth or slips from my fingers sounds feels looks is wrong. Every attempt for smooth, fluid motion stops short and fails in action. The words just die, flat and useless, the moment they materialize. It just all feels so hard and plastic. I want loose and elastic. It's like I'm trying too hard. It feels false and premeditated. But my mind is blank and I flounder - I have to try just to come up with anything at all. These aren't images. They're empty structures with fluff plugged into them. Something's missing.

I need to read more.

Joan: How could you?! How could you just leave me?!

Adam: I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Joan: No! How could you just leave me there?

Adam: I tried! Okay? I couldn't do it. Not after my mother, I . . . I couldn't. I . . . I just couldn't see someone throw her life away like that.

Joan: She didn't . . . she didn't kill herself.

Adam: Some people do it all at once. And some people do it a little bit every day.

Joan: [pause] I loved her.

Adam: I know. And I don't know why that doesn't matter.

I copied this down a few weeks ago after watching this episode with Kay and crying, like I do every time I watch that episode, but I never wrote anything else down about it. I don't really know what I had been thinking about or what I had thought about writing. I just know that every once in a while, those last two lines of Adam's, they pop into my head. When it feels like everyone around me - including myself - is acting self-destructive. When life doesn't seem fair. When I try to help someone and can't. When I can't help someone understand how loved they are. Just in general, when someone I want to be close to, seems so far away, and I can't reach them, or have no right to. When life hurts, sometimes those words will pop into my head. Sometimes they make me feel better. Sometimes they don't.