I read the play you sent me. I had started it a few days ago, but had to go to work. Tonight I sat down and re-read the first couple of pages, getting more and more ideas. So I stopped and got a pencil. And turned it into a screenplay. A fucking amazing screenplay, if I may say. And I get to 66. and I want to stop. I'm crying so hard I call Tosh and wake her up. It's about Rebecca. Explicitly. And I don't want to read anymore. And I don't want to remember. And you wrote about the hospital room. And you're forcing me to see her. And remember everything. The tubes. When a woman thought I was her sister. When the doctors told her parents. Trying to get a hold of you. Saying those words to you. And it's hard to type because I keep wiping my face and my nose and I can barely see the screen. And I hate this moment. Please. Stop it. But it's not about me. So I read on. But it's hard to read with that much liquid in your eyes. And your script is fucking brilliant and I hate you for making me go there. But I don't. Hate is such a strong word. I mean, it was necessary. And it makes everything that much more powerful.

I had forgotten her room number. On purpose.