the habit of being

By pretending to be sick, I have made myself sick. This time it is only a fever, a scratch in my throat, but in the past I have caused myself much greater and longer-lasting illness. By pretending to be a scientist, I’ve fooled some smart enough people. If everyone expects me to be smart, I can keep up my end of the conversation. By pretending to be in love, I have fallen in love easily. It was simple, it took no time at all, once I committed myself to it, and I have all the usual symptoms. Someone, maybe my mother, said once that I could be an actress, and I wonder if I’m not just picking the wrong scripts. If it weren’t for the perpetual stage fright that keeps me from taking on the most fabulous parts, couldn’t I just pretend myself right into living the life I’ve always wanted? Can’t I just pretend to do something great?