Acting, and the privilege of being able to do it for a living, is so important to me. I don’t turn up and just hope for the best. I really fret about it. I do my homework; I prepare myself for the experience of playing a particular character.
Tell me the truth, Frank, remember that? We used to live by it. And you know what’s so good about the truth? Everyone knows what it is however long they’ve lived without it. No one forgets the truth, Frank, they just get better at lying.
“I feel sorry for you. Still, maybe you deserve each other. I mean, the way you look right now, I’m beginning to feel sorry for him too. You must give him a pretty bad time if making babies is the only way he can prove he’s got a pair of balls.”
I just wanted us to live again. For years I thought we’ve shared this secret that we would be wonderful in the world. I don’t know exactly how, but just the possibility kept me hoping. How pathetic is that? So stupid. To put all your hopes in a promise that was never made. Frank knows what he wants, he found his place, he’s just fine. Married, two kids, it should be enough. It is for him. And he’s right; we were never special or destined for anything at all.