I soon re­al­ized that in­evitabil­ity of ev­ery re­la­tion­ship: the things which ini­tially draw you to each other be­come the ex­act things that ir­ri­tate you the most. I’d loved Andy’s non­con­for­mity, which be­came ir­ri­ta­tion at the lack of struc­ture in his life. He’d loved my in­de­pen­dence, which be­came an an­noy­ance at my re­mote­ness. In the early days, he ex­plained away my late­ness with my free-spirit­ed­ness. Af­ter a while he thought it was self­ish­ness. I used to love that he wanted to make ev­ery­one laugh be­cause I thought it was a sign of his gen­eros­ity. At some point I saw it for what it re­ally was – need­i­ness. I re­al­ized he saw ev­ery so­cial in­ter­ac­tion as a minia­ture gig and there­fore an op­por­tu­nity for ac­cep­tance or re­jec­tion. His mood was so de­pen­dent on how he felt these con­ver­sa­tional per­for­mances went and I hated be­ing wise to it.