"Camera One, closes in
the soundtrack starts,
the scene begins.
You're playing you, now. You're playing you now."

song-Camera One-Josh Joplin Group


I had worked with doctors before. Lawyers, frequently. A few bankers and even a priest. But an soon-to-be ex-soap opera star was somewhat awkward. She assumed I knew who she was and I assumed she had been in therapy many times before she arrived at our office. We were both wrong.

Lisa was early 30's and attractive, but so strained, so stretched thin by her own nerves, it appeared her bracelet wold pop off like a rubberband and fly across the room.

"Are you usually this tense?" I asked, as she paced around the small office.

This is tense? I thought you were used to talking to crazy people?

She told me many things about -others. Her husbands (three of them, and counting), her kids (two of them, one of which actually lived with her) and her parents (who lived in Europe, and apparently didn't visit much)-
They sent me to Drama school and I chose Television- 'such a pity' they said.

After various tangents and monologues the session grinded to a halt and we were left with no sound except the tapping of her sculpted nails against her chair's arm. Clicking-Tapping.
And....? Raised eyebrow- tilted head.
"Do you have a question?" I asked, trying not to smirk (finally down to business)

No, I thought this is where you earn your money, what questions are you going to ask?

"No, it's your money, it's your questions and it's your answers. What do you want to know.. that's the deal. "

She took a deep breath, followed by a dramatic pause...Well, let's see where I should start, how about kindergarten...

I interupted- "Hey, how about let's make a deal- I won't play Freud and you won't play Bette Davis? "

She laughed, then stopped herself, looking at her hands- That would leave me with only me.

"Yes," I said, and we began.

slide.. no, i said s l i d e and casual, yes casually.. finger tip around glasses edge, yours, tiniest sip, straw falls from lip cradle, relax. glance around, stare into reflection briefly, smile into them, directly into, your eyes exist, in this moment, solely to steal their thoughts.

stand and your feet must follow carpet patterns closely, walk between diamonds, around lines, avoid tattered carpet simply because there is nothing left for you to learn by walking a path so worn. watch.. faces and walls, the bits of swaying clothing, dangling shoulder bags, children.

you are of few words, do not forget this. feel your lips move, do not speak unless you might effect a bit of human life with the words that escape you.

live in music. every movement you make corresponds to a series of notes and lyrics and, yes, five bricks rather than four along a dirty window, you are to notice these things, simply because you can. the intricacy of fingers is still too much for you, but watch them curl towards your palm when time stands mostly still.

you're playing you, now.. you do not have it in you to be, otherwise.

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