"I drank the rest of Sheila's wine, looking up the beginnings of Jim and my relationship, crying, turning on the TV, muting it, playing music, putting on a robe, pacing the room just to try that out. I filled the tub with water but I didn't get in. I curled around my computer, searching for all the things I'd seen a million times. The views were not growing as steadily, but they were growing, and would always grow, never diminish. Jim was one of those people who's so good at making it seem like his only interest in the Internet was the Internet itself. How interesting it is, as a thing. But of course this is self-interest, and my relationship with it has always been far more transparent, and he said he got that, and liked it about me. I liked that he got it and liked it, and that he could tell I got him and that he wasn't ashamed. What we got was that there were all these unwritten codes, that every message, because it was coded, was sitting on a mountain of meaning. Literally, everything is code and coded, but on top of that, coded into a context, online. Showing a circuit board look and MIDI-style sound felt like less code, like baring the bones. But these aesthetic choices were cluttering up the streamlining of the universe, not minimalizing it. We were asking about art and representation, and about the modern notion of a man and a woman devoted to each other. We were dropping in U-turn signs on everyone else's roads, smiling at each other, driving forward."