Chapter IX , in which Adele thinks of selfishness

"I'm not in love with you anymore.", he said.
"Please, don't leave me. I still love you", was the reply.

If you're unhappy and I love you so much as I claim I do, then I'm unhappy. Sympathetically unhappy. Im some languages, compassion is the best word to describe it: I can feel what you're feeling, I'm there, right where you are. Yesterday I watched The Sea Inside. In case you don't know, it's been nominated for best foreign picture. And that's what I've been thinking about ever since. How we don't actually connect. How we are caught in our own particular needs and sensations. So, do us both a favor and walk out the door for good.

Instead, we are all like characters from Closer, asking for details we know will only hurt us even more, hoping that somehow pain will erase the memories of happiness. Starting can be difficult, but we find it easier if we are hurt. I don't think my double has ever cried this much watching a movie. I don't think a movie could make someone feel so pathetic. It was awful for her. She saw herself portrayed on the screen. Some of the people around her were laughing. I guess they thought "Hey, it's Julia Roberts, it must be funny after all". She shushed them. She's like that.

That night I too cried. I couldn't bear to live inside her and not be able to make her feel any better.

Chapter VIII, in which Adele asks herself what the hell

There are new questions popping out every second. Some of them are actually old and dwell in most anyone's minds. The same questions are asked over and over again and everyone's got an answer. I like to think answers are only temporary. To tell you the truth, I'm quite sure answers are only temporary. Take scientists for example. They're clever enough to defy scientific laws. One day even gravity might be defied. I'm not saying I wouldn't be shocked or at least amazed if that happened, if we're stuck on Earth because there's glue on our shoes or under our feet.

I know this woman who would doubt the existence of dinosaurs. She wondered whether fossils were only fake evidence of life on Earth. Of course she truly believed Earth was created in seven days, when G. made the animals and placed them here. But that's just a (pleonastic) minor detail.

I'm only saying there's always room for doubt. That's all. And it sucks and it's beautiful.

Chapter VII, in which Adele is awaken

It's late in the night and I can't sleep. I've got this e-mail from this Henry guy. He asks me to be his penpal. Maybe he found my e-mail here. I should've predicted it. He also sent me a photograph of him on the beach with his daughter. They are both so beautiful it actually hurts and it makes me wonder if it's a real picture. It must be, of course, it exists. I'm guessing he took it from some database or something. Really. Guys like that are not real. They don't talk to real people. I'm real. Right?

Adele Louise Jameson. It's hard not to have an ID card. Or a passport for that matter. I could just leave here, go somewhere else. Somewhere I could create memories instead of dwelling among them. The cup on the sink waiting for some soap and water, the book on my shelf (with a little note on the front page saying he used to see my face on the covers of every book he saw), my blue blanket spotted with Noelle's hair, this blue pen on the table, the white sheets of paper in the drawer. Everything. Everything is so beautiful it hurts. Too real. I think I really don't mind if Henry is lying about his appearance and sent me a pic of some model. Henry is as real as myself.

Chapter VI, in which Adele wants to sleep

God, I'm really tired. Waking up so early in the morning to teach is hard. It's rewarding though. I guess that's why one chooses to teach in the first place. I tried to take a nap yesterday, but couldn't. I kept thinking about the classes I had to teach, about how my double's so sad about having been left by the guy she was in love with.

I should try to get some sleep now. But what if.

Chapter V, where Adele comes back to life

It's really stunning how not being able to show up often makes you live in silence as if you are hibernating. It's summer here. You might think it's winter for I supposedly live in New York, but it's not. It's summer. No sunshine today. Clouds everywhere. The person I live inside is now trying to get her life back on track by singing John Denver's songs. They're supposed to make her feel better. So now she tries hard to believe that sunshine on her shoulders is just what it takes to make her feel happy.

I guess she does. Feel better I mean. If she didn't, I wouldn't be writing again. The dog is on my lap, calmly sleeping. She's warm and my legs are somewhat numb because of the weight. But it feels good. To have this little creature wagging her tail every time I come home. It's welcoming. I like to feel welcomed.

I should probably get a cup of tea now. Jasmine. It's something double and I share. We both love jasmine. Flower, scent, tea, flavor. Sometimes I regret she didn't learn British English instead of American. I'd write flavour and that would be absolutely charming. If you have to buy me flowers some day, please buy me jasmine flowers. Or a pillow stuffed with dried flowers. It'd be nice to fall asleep imagining I'm somewhere else where flowers grow wildly and the air goes inside me bringing the scent of peace.