Alright, don't forget to lock the door.
Copy that.
And don't change in front of the windows.
Okay.
Don't forget about me.
Deal.
See ya in 12 hours.
Yeah, if you get lonely, just call 911.
Wow, don't cut yourself on that wit.
Seriously, just make
sure you lock the doors.
Don't want anything bad gettin' in.
What could be worse than me?
See ya.
That's cute.
He thinks you're joking.
Of course he does.
While he's here, it's dumb.
It's just after he leaves
that everything changes.
But you're smart,
you've been here before.
You know how to be careful.
You know how important
it is to keep things organized.
You learned the hard way.
Call something harmless
and watch it destroy you.
But it's not so bad.
Just follow the steps.
Step one: turn on all the lights.
Also the TV.
Ignore that.
Snakes can kill in three ways.
Quickly with poison,
slowly by constriction,
or most agonizingly of all,
swallowing its prey whole.
Step two: make a fun plan.
Say it out loud to yourself,
pretend to be excited.
I'm going to eat cereal,
paint my nails and
organize the goddam studio.
What's in there?
A dream?
A vision of the future?
A door to hell?
Don't ask these questions.
Don't slip into old habits.
No drinking, no smoking, no downers.
Just stick to the plan.
More or less.
When you were left alone as a kid,
you'd do this weird thing.
You dress up like a stranger,
put on a wig.
Made you feel like someone else.
No, that's not it.
Made you feel like,
like someone is watching.
And who knows?
Maybe they are.
Maybe someone comes in
just to watch.
You'd like that, wouldn't you?
Have to be a pretty small person
to fit through there, though.
No, no, that's crazy.
Stay focused.
Don't forget to paint your nails.
They used to think hysteria
was caused by the uterus
sneaking around inside the body.
They called it Wandering Wound Syndrome.
Said it was an animal within an animal.
Freud said the unconscious
is like that, too.
A free-floating mind within a mind,
but of course, that's ridiculous.
The word womb means hollow.
So when you think about it,
it's not an animal
that's getting lost inside you.
It's a void.
Stupid doctors.
You might think calling
people is a good idea.
Hey, it's Jack.
Leave a message.
This is false.
They won't understand
and they will resent you
for making them feel weird.
Phone: If this is an emergency,
hang up and dial 911.
When you get down to it,
the only real rule is survival.
Anyway, if he doesn't want you to smoke,
he shouldn't be gone all the time.
What are you even doing?
What are you supposed to be doing?
Like, what are normal
people doing right now?
Are they at the club?
You used to go to the club.
You used to fucking shred
and now you take
glamor shots of babies, like an asshole.
Why don't you have a real job?
He has a real job.
He's probably out there, saving lives
and making people laugh.
Someone is touching his arm; a nurse,
and she's also a rock climber.
He's never coming back.
He finally realized you're just a shell.
The band, the vows,
the good jokes and stellar blowjobs,
all just smoke and mirrors.
You'll end up homeless and dead.
Or maybe he does come back and you go on
keeping this secret forever.
It doesn't matter,
the truth is you've always been alone.
You always will be.
Oh, fuck.
Step three: when all else fails...
Call something harmless,
watch it destroy you.
What could be worse than me?
Hey, babe.
How was your night?
Good.
Yeah, I missed you.
Being apart makes me feel crazy.
Weirdo.
See?
That wasn't so bad, was it?