And so they sit. Colleen's living room is covered in candles and little teeny rock fountains. I imagine that Gillian Anderson's trailer has a similar candle/little teeny rock fountain décor, actually, while Duchovny's has a little basketball hoop over the back of the door and some back issues of Celebrity Skin on the floor. Scully announces that she has "a strange feeling about an ill friend." Colleen looks thoughtful. "You sense something?" she asks. Scully sort of nods. And then Colleen yammers about how we're all composed of energy and consciousness and auras and truths and, oh my God, Colleen is Moronica, Version 1.0. Am I a masochist? Why did I decide to recap this? Did some part of me subconsciously miss her endless blathering about feelings? But how can that be? Oh, God, what has this show done to me? "What are you saying that I saw?" Scully finally asks. "Pain. And when there's pain, there's a need for healing; physically, mentally, spiritually." Blah blah blah. How much longer until we get to the sex? "But he has a heart condition," Scully says. Colleen purses her lips. "When we hold on to shame and guilt and fear, it creates imbalance. Makes us forget who we are," she says. Scully closes her eyes. "This is difficult for you to accept," Colleen remarks, and puts a hand on Scully's knee. Scully looks at her. In the distance, a teakettle whistles. "Would you like to have some tea?" Colleen asks.
Kitchen. "Have you ever had moments when everything seems incredibly clear? When time seems to expand?" Colleen asks. Scully thinks about it. "Yes," she finally admits. "You may be more open to things than you think," Colleen tells her, pouring the tea. I want to die. She is Moronica, the Prequel. I'm in hell, all over again. And this time I did it to myself. What was I thinking? That this episode would engender good conversation, sure. That it's important in the overall scheme of the show, yes. That we'd be able to talk about the differences between Gillian Anderson's Scully and the 1013 version of Scully. But I completely forgot that all this talk about being open and sensing things and feelings only makes me want to feel a sharp object in my eardrum. Scully looks thoughtful as Colleen hands over the mug. "I used to be a physicist," Colleen says. Colleen never shuts her yap, does she? She explains that she was a "successful workaholic." And she thought she was happy: "Truth is, I was cut off from the world and myself. I was literally dying inside." She was in a relationship with her girlfriend, she explains, but she was in the closet. Then she got breast cancer. "I'm sorry," Scully says. Colleen shrugs. "Don't be. It's the cancer that got my attention." I nap through another whole long monologue, the gist of which seems to be that Colleen met a healer who taught her to "release shame" and "tell the truth" and then her cancer went into remission and now she's a happy, healthy, copper-sculpture-purchasing crop-circle researcher. Scully looks down at the floor. "You still aren't sure," Colleen says. "You came here looking for answers and you want something to take back with you." I wish Scully were all, "Actually, I was thinking about how my cancer went into remission when they stuck this alien chip back in my neck." Instead, she just shoots Colleen an eyebrow. "Everything happens for a reason," Colleen chirps.