I watch ER almost religiously. I hate it. I think it’s a terrible show. I mean, it may have been friggin’ awesome in its heyday with Clooney and the gang, but it’s all gone to pot nowadays. So I suppose I should really say that I watch it because it’s a terrible show. The haughtiness in me likes to play holier-than-thou and scream out every technical error with a combination of sarcasm and glee. It makes me feel medically superior. Because, watch out wide world, this gal’s gonna be a doctor in one year. Now, if only I could convince myself that it were true. Me, a doctor. Craziness.
We all play a front, sometimes more for our benefit than theirs. It’s easier to believe what everyone else believes, even if you have to create it from scratch. Deep down, I’m still a fraud. Put me in a hospital, and I exude competence. Scary, isn’t it?
It makes me wonder about the rest of them—everyone else. That the uber-confident, fantastically good-looking, and insanely smart M may be just as insecure as I am underneath it all. But, my gawd, can he put on a show.
I guess I’d like to believe that “faking it” is rather a work in progress. Afterall, in the end, you are you pretend to be.
