Jessica: "And the whole story about why you were driving all over the East Coast today, the one that didn't hang together...? Actually, you know what? Save it."
Brody: "Ah. So we're doing the whole I don't want to hear your lying explanations so somehow explain yourself without talking thing. The most bullshitty passive-aggressive way of controlling a conversation since We need to talk."
Jessica: "I'll throw in a divorce threat too, motherfucker. I have no shame tonight."
What a hammer would do in a world without nails is probably try, for a while, to be something else. Pounding tent pegs, cracking nuts. Wrapped in sock or two, for softer mallet jobs. But eventually he'd be up against the wall, and he'd consider his imperative. The lack of options. Carrie didn't walk into Langley like a stupid person, she walked into Langley like a person with no option but hope. And they took that away, too. So she packed her bags, moved out of the safety of her father's home. Back to the place she fell in love, and lost her mind. Where all the memories went.
When you think about the ingredients of your life, the broad-spectrum basics of the day to day, what do you have? Location. Rooms, objects. You have your intellectual pursuits, your jazz music. You have the things you like to eat and drink, and the people who love you. Maybe God, or something that means the same thing to you. But all those things are relatively portable, aren't they? Those things mean as much on one coast as on the other.
The night we met this Carrie Mathison, she shrugged on a few layers and a fake wedding ring, and went out to meet the world. The Carrie that did that, maybe you would say she was a mess but she lived here, at least. She knew what side her bread was buttered on. She had an equilibrium that, to an outside observer, wouldn't look too much like equilibrium. But she knew she was safe. It was a balance that she'd negotiated for herself, half in work and half in play, nobody getting close enough to see the cracks.
So she puts on that girl like a costume, like she's only an inch-deep. And that doesn't feel right either. She looks at herself in the mirror, for a long time, until she sees what's missing: Her purpose. She's a hammer in a world without nails. And without working hard, there's no need to play hard. Like this. Half an equilibrium is a contradiction in terms. There is not a place for her in this world; just a Carrie-shaped hole they've plastered over. So she'll go.