Dear Scott #11

Dear Scott,

What if, in your trial, instead of a lawyer you had a person impersonating a lawyer? And instead of a real judge you got someone who wanted to be a judge someday but never had time for law school and instead of a jury of your peers you got a bunch of people rounded up from the street enticed by free coffee?
What if it wasn't a trial at all but a play? And everyone rehearses their roles so well it feels like real-life instead of actually being real life? What if you never injected anyone with fluids in the first place or removed bits of infected chest tissue and you before each procedure you would whisper into the ear of your patient, "this is all pretend," and they would follow along with the plot and character development and you could still feel a sense of accomplishment?

More ideas coming your way,
Rachel

Dear Scott #10

Dear Scott,

Hey... me again.
I have a confession to make.
Sometimes I impersonate a French speaker.
I have found it quite simple deluding friends and strangers into folly by reciting the entire Hail Mary in French as well as the French bit of that Beatles song "Michelle."
"Michelle, ma belle. Sont des mots qui vont trés bien ensemble, trés bien ensemble." I roll it off my tongue like an unsavory mouthful of creamed corn. By this point I have my impressed victim in the palm of my hand.
This is kind of like impersonating a doctor. I, similar to you, want people to think I'm brilliant and worldly. Lord forbid the day someone drags a French person to me demanding to hear my lack-thereof skills in action.
The truth is Scott, we both want to be masters of our selective fields without going to the extent of actually taking those essential steps. We simply want to be admired, envied, and loved.
This said, there isn't enough credit given to the gentle act of self-depreciation. Sometimes admitting you're not amazing is the first step towards success. Sure, we're awesome; I mean, I write a little book every season and you already have a great story to tell your future patients!

A more thoughtful,
Rachel

P.S. Sometimes it's just not appropriate to "fake it, until you make it."

Portland Zine Symposium. Get Excited.

The inertia towards non-movement

At the my weekend job writing because I have to write. Because I haven't wrote in awhile. I just haven't had the time to put anything down.
Gosh. I am so tired. This is what happens when writers don't write for sometime. They just complain about things. Write about all the bad things that are happening. Let pent up untold qualms purge. This writing is most annoying. So. I am going to let it out as quickly and as thoroughly as possible.
I miss silence and non-movement. Just to be in one's space. Breathe one's own air and eat one's own food. To sit on my deck and invite a few friends over. Make some lemonade. I don't know. I work, every day. When I get home I work out. Then all of a sudden it's ten o'clock and I have to go to bed. And I am always tired.
My sister is making me crazy. Accusing me of negligence, accusing me of not being myself, not being spontaneous or fun. And I'm avoiding phone calls and messages for party's that I want to go to. And I hate that. It's everyday. Everyday I spend so much time in a space that is not my own. Places where I can't be myself. Can't get angry. Can't say, "fuck" or "bitchass" or whatever I want to say.
I just want to have a day to look forward to that is mine. My own day, full of my own things.
Okay. That is done.
This zine needs to get done. I need to develop a plan for my booth at the zine symposium. I need a sub for my booth, someone to juggle the workshops with booth sitting. Theme; hang in there. I need a bird cage. I need to make hair clips. I need something for display. More work.

Those days

There was a time when I would eat basmati rice with sauteed onion everyday. Those days lacked imagination but they were indeed satisfying.