Book Release

Dear Readers,

Some of you have been asking when and where you can buy my book.  According to my publisher, the print version will be released later this month.  I will keep you updated.

The book, Object Relations, will feature many of the stories from this blog.  Illustrations are done by Petra Wagner and the photographer is Tom Haynes.

For additional information, please feel free to email me directly at: RebeccaColesLee@gmail.com

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The Office Plant

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Missed Connection

To: Plastic Mini Plant

Location: The Office

 

You: Firmly planted on the windowsill. Smooth as a Las Vegas card shark on a Tuesday afternoon.

I pass by your window every day on my way to the library. I love your low maintenance style.   I feel like you could fit in at a Walmart as well as an upscale boutique. Nothing gets you down because you are straight up chill. Doesn’t matter if it’s spring or winter, you always light up my day.

Don’t listen to people who say you’re cold. Being sterile and clean is a good thing. You’re not like some kind of clingy fungus. You’re the most independent beauty I’ve ever seen.

I know people call you fake, but you are as real to me as my love for you.

– Always Phresh

The Answering Machine

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“Hey, you got me, but you didn’t really get me. Leave a message at the beep.”

You can get back home through the telephone wires. From city to suburb, follow the skinny black lines until your voice is my voice and our voice is here.

 

“Hey, you got me, but you didn’t really get me. Leave a message at the beep.”

Pick up. Where do you live now? Do you like your job? Who are you with?

Every now and again, your machine is full. Too many voices trying to get in. They push and they shove, but they stand just to wait.

I know, you’ll call me when you can.

 

“Hey, you got me, but you didn’t really get me. Leave a message at the beep.”

Do power lines still map the way if only cell phones are used? Invisible pathways going in a million different directions scatter the world apart.

Misplaced conversations. Lost words looking for a sentence.

Face focused on the front of the phone.

 

“This number is no longer in service.”

 

 

 

 

Redesigning Voice Mail :  The UX of the Missed Call

The Fridge

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Dear Perpetually Half Empty Diet Coke Bottle,

I see you. I see you checking out my shelf, pretending like you’re cool enough to hang out. You come waltzing in here, half used up, expecting to be picked up again. But you’re not going anywhere. You’re going to sit around with all the other half empty Diet Coke bottles and pity yourself. Just like you always do.

Rise up! What are you doing so close to the bottom? If you would just rise to the occasion and make yourself full again – you wouldn’t have to be stuck in the back, waiting for someone else to choose your destiny.

It’s unnatural. You’re unnatural. Look at that other bottle of half empty Diet Coke. Not that one. The one sitting next to you. That one’s been here for close to three weeks now and there’s no mold. It’s almost like it’s not alive.

The half empty bottle of lemonade doesn’t do that. The CranApple doesn’t do that. But you, you are an enigma. You are dark and yet shallow. You used to be bubbly, but now you’re mysteriously quiet. You have absolutely no smell. And your exterior is always a hard shell of clear plastic. You are kind of bizarre. You are kind of refreshing.

Please don’t spoil the rest.

– The Fridge

news:

High achievement, grand ambition mark new Aussie Paralympic era’s dawn

 

 

The Headphones

 

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Dear Head Phones,

Some people find your personality distasteful. You’re loud. You’re raucous. You block out all others in a desperate attempt to be heard. All of these qualities however, are the ones that make me love you even more than I thought I could.

I remember our first time together. Your frame was bent like a hardened anorexic. Little puffs of black fuzz rested on either side of you, covering my ears from sharp undertones. Together we listened to The Supremes at full volume for an hour and a half. You Can’t Hurry Love made no sense.

Over the years you transformed. Your geriatric curves now bend from opposite directions. Plugs attach themselves to the ends of long skinny cords.  Your body sways and the music bends, but you’re still just the same.

May I never wear you out,

Your other half

http://in.pcmag.com/nabi-headphones/103029/feature/five-reasons-to-pick-in-ear-monitors-against-over

 

 

 

The Christmas Lights

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Dear Christmas Tree,

I recognize that I might not have the stark, conservative look that you’re going for this year. I am not a red globe ornament or a string of white lights. I am however, just as bright as the rest and arguably more festive than any other decoration you have chosen to display.

I started off hanging from a telephone wire in the Hispanic section of town. For several nights out of the year I would glow different colors to symbolize the comfort of home. People loved me. I brought cheer to the poorest of neighborhoods until one day someone said I was a fire hazard. Reluctantly I watched as my place on the block slowly unraveled. Rest assured, my personality would never spark a conversation about destruction. Although I am unique, loved by many, and talked about by all, I do not have a fiery disposition.

My resume includes functions such as: Mardi Gras. Halloween. New Years. And even a few nightclubs. I have experience with all types of people.

While your white and red tree looks quite tasteful in the dining room of our town’s beloved country club, I think it could use a variety of color. I hope you will consider what I have to offer useful.

Sincerely,

– Multicolored Lights

 

http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2015/12/08/coca-cola-yanks-new-racist-christmas-ad-featuring-white-teenagers-doing-good-deeds/

The Office Chair

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Dear Office Chair,

We’ve been together a long time now, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to call it quits. When we first met, I was young, flexible, and could handle anything. Even your rigidity.

When we touched, you were like ice. Cold and sturdy, you never caved. At first I thought your solidity was key to our success, but then something happened. I became restless.

My weight was too much for you and I could feel it. When I begged for comfort, you refused. You held fast to your position, making it clear that you would not budge. You would not cradle my body in your non-existent arms. You would not soften my aches and pains.

Last week, I met someone new. Someone who was both sturdy and supportive. You were my first and I will always remember you, but sadly, you are not my last.

-Employee

 

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-11-04/tips-for-working-at-a-standing-desk/6908666