Interiors Page #3

Could we please talk about something else?

I want to say something.

I'm going to be very direct.

I think the occasion calls for it.

I've done a lot of thinking

about this matter,

and a great deal of soul-searching.

Now that the girls are all on their

own, I feel that for my own self

I must come to this decision,

though I don't take it lightly.

I feel I've been a dedicated husband

and a responsible father,

and I haven't regretted anything

I've been called upon to do.

Now I feel I want to be

by myself for a while.

So, consequently, I've decided

to move out of the house.

I don't know how I'll feel

about it when I finally do it,

and it's not irrevocable,

but it's something I have to try.

Though, as I say, it's not

an irrevocable situation.

It's a separation.

It may be for the best.

I mean...

I wanted to lay it on the

table in front of everyone

so that everything is open

and as direct as possible.

Will you please not breathe so hard.

I'll move out.

What does that mean?

I don't want to live in this house anymore.

Eve, think about it.

Move out.

Look, it's not irrevocable.

It's a trial separation.

I can't be alone.

I don't want to

discuss the details just now.

It's a very bad time for me.

My impotence set in a year ago.

My paralysis.

I suddenly found I couldn't

bring myself to write anymore.

I shouldn't say "suddenly." Actually,

it started happening last winter.

Increasing thoughts about death

just seemed to come over me.

These...

A preoccupation with my own mortality.

These

feelings of futility in relation to my work.

Just what am I striving to create, anyway?

To what end? For what purpose, what goal?

I mean,

do I really care if some of my poems

are read after I'm gone forever?

Is that supposed to be

some sort of compensation?

I used to think it was,

but

now, for some reason,

I can't seem to...

I can't seem to shake

the real implication of dying.

It's terrifying.

The intimacy of it embarrasses me.

Are you still thinking about your mother?

I can't believe Renata encourages her.

She fills her full of false hope.

She's just trying to keep her spirits up.

I want to quit my job.

Joey.

I can't keep my mind on it.

I can't concentrate.

I sit there reading

other people's manuscripts,

and halfway through I lose interest.

I get headaches from the words,

and then I'm supposed to write an opinion.

It's not fair to the authors.

A month ago you said you'd finally

found something you enjoyed.

Well, I was wrong.

I think about going back to acting.

I'm not an actress.

Can't do that again.

Flyn's the actress in this family.

Why don't you work with me?

Because political activity

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