Time Travel

Time travel?, you say, raising a brow in interest.

If only I could tell you my hiatus from this blog is from figuring out how to actually travel through time and space. I wish I could tell you I have patented my algorithm and am giving everyone who comments on this blog a million dollars. Alas, I cannot. I have never been very science or math minded, so if I am actually going to time travel to the last sixties, because that's where I would go, someone will have to figure it out for me.

It's been a whirlwind. Life is a bit on the crazy side and while there have been many times I've wanted to sit down and simply write, I haven't been able to find the time. Then there are those who say, you find time to do the things you love. This isn't necessarily true. It's nice when you find the time to do what you love, but most of us don't work that way. We find the time to get done what needs getting done, like laundry, dinners, painting, flooring, running errands, filling our gas tank, but when it comes to what we truly enjoy we compromise. Probably not even intentionally. We promise to do it later. Maybe at the weekend. Or the next holiday.

Now, I love writing. If that comes as a surprise, you haven't been paying attention and I owe you spanking. I've always enjoyed writing, ever since I was a chubby-faced, scraggly-haired, sensitive Sally. And I've always tried to write, and I think that's important to clarify. I do try to write. I want to be good. But a simple truth is, while I can meticulously join sentences and breathe life into characters people care about now, this hadn't always been the case, and tonight I find myself thinking about those who were subjected to my early writings. Perhaps an apology is needed.

Last week, I time travelled. I literally (though, not really literally, more so figuratively) was thrown back in time over a decade when through the door of our newly opened tattoo shop strolled my grade twelve creative writing teacher. Surely, I looked the epitome of confused because she said to me, "It's Mrs. D."

And I knew. I never forget a face, let alone one I confided in when I honestly wasn't sure I'd make it through being a teenager. How emo sounding, right? Except, it's the truth. I struggled through being a teenager. I loved school because it was a reprieve from a rather daunting family life, I had wonderful friends, without whom I wonder where I might have ended up, and I was stubborn and dwelling in darkness. What? You don't believe me? I have my creative writing book to prove it.

It looks far cheerier than it actually is. Honestly, when I reread some of the atrocities I wrote, I cringe. Not only because I clearly didn't have a grasp on the English language, but because I wasn't happy. I was struggling. And I knew at the end of the day it was my job to fix it. To mend myself. Also, I roll my eyes over how emotional and raw everything I wrote was. How dramatic. And I realize I'm officially an adult, discounting the blues of another teenager, except this one is myself, and I actually lived with those demons.

Lived? Why the hell is that past tense? I still live with some of those demons. We're good friends now. Fully aware of each other. Cohabiting rather well on most days. On others, it's grim, but in a encouraging way. A 'fuck you' demons kind of way. A 'I'm going to get through this and have the last bloody laugh if it kills us all' type of existence. 

Now Mrs. D, who isn't Mrs. D anymore, but Ms. S was (and is) a very influential person on me and in my life. Strangely enough, at the time, I didn't realize it. While she certainly encouraged my writing, she actually influenced me emotionally more than creatively. That sounds bad, but I don't mean it to. In fact, I'd take an emotional influence over a creative one any day. I've always had a rampant imagination and would ideally like someone to simmer the fire instead of stoking it, perhaps then sleep might come easier.

Way back when I seemed to be clawing my way through life before life had even really started, Ms. S validated my feelings. It's hard to explain why this is so important. I suppose one might need a bit more back-story, but I really don't plan on marching back down a road I left behind a long time ago. After the most tedious cycle of confrontation, acceptance, grieving, anger, sadness, ignoring, and so on, I eventually learned how to forgive and let go. To move on. It's been a long second half to my life, but I doubt I would have been able to get through it without someone saying: 

It's okay to feel lost, alone, and afraid. 

It's okay to dwell in the darkness with your demons.

It's okay to be angry, sad, and hurt.  

At a time when I felt wrong for feeling bad, I needed a blunt lesson in life. Ms. S provided it for me. Of course, she didn't say it so bare bones-y. She was, and is, an English teacher. Her words of wisdom came often and much more articulate than those bold sentences above, but at the core of everything she said, I heard "You are not alone. You will be alright." And that was more important than the writing encouragement or grade I received. 

Although, I must say, the demons never truly go away. You just get to know them to the point of realizing what/who they are and they aren't so scary anymore. We rarely get the opportunity to actually express to someone what it is they did for us. I'm lucky to have that chance. 

Also, I am so glad I don't write poetry anymore. Good grief, I wish someone had of told me how terrible it was. Of course, I was an emotional teenager, so that might not have been a good idea. After this unexpected visit, I find myself pondering over who will walk through the door next. 

Will it be you?

American Horror Story - Coven

This Thanksgiving weekend I binge watched American Horror Story - Coven. When everyone is giving thanks and being grateful, I'm sitting in my recliner knitting and indulging in some grade A depravity.

Now, at first, my general impression of Coven was ... less than stellar. I was like, really? I mean, really? There were all these teenagers running around being teenagery with their angsty feelings and persnickety attitudes, being silly and it all seemed to be a bit too teeny-boppery for this cynical old bat (meaning me). Okay, before you get all uppity about my snap judgement, let me amend this by saying, I actually ended up enjoying this season more than the other two! So, there, you totally don't have to jump down my throat.

I knew not to give up on Coven until I'd watched at least three episodes. From past experience, I had learned AHS rolls out the red carpet slowly and its hooks sink in just as fast. Then, all of a sudden, you're knee deep in the fourth episode and excited to find out what happens next. The same thing happened with Asylum and the first season, which I just learned is now being called 'Murder House', so I didn't walk away. I battled through the 'this feels a bit too high school' vibes and made it to the really good stuff.

Don't get me wrong. The third season is totally worth watching all the way through, but I did feel it was targeted towards a younger demographic. This could have been because half of the cast was, in fact, hormonal youth, or the fact the young women are sent to Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies - doesn't the name alone sound like a popular YA novel in which the main character discovers she holds the power of the world in her smooth baby hands? And I also felt this season, like the others, stuck to the trend of tipping its hat to those without a voice - misfits, women, and the mentally unstable.

While this season certainly seems to touch on controversial issues such as race and women in power, I believe it did so without actually developing an opinion of it. Their are a number of strong female characters throughout but all of them are either naive, foolish, or complete jerks - some a combination of these traits - which means there isn't really anyone you're truly rooting for. Honestly, half the cast could die and you wouldn't even care - which might be intentional considering how body counts stack up with this program. Don't get me wrong, there are some undeniably lovable characters, like Kyle - the unintentional monster (played by that oh so cute Evan Peters - or Misty Day - the Stevie Nicks obsessed swamp witch - and Myrtle Snow - an always second best member of the council with a desire for revenge - all of which are wonderfully weird and totally endearing. Still, it's abundantly clear that men take a backseat in this season and of the three main male leads all of them are pretty much there to serve the ladies. This isn't a complaint, simply something I noticed and, I can't lie, was a bit refreshing.

Yes, Coven was more toned down than the first two seasons, but there was less to guess at and it wrapped everything up in a nice package. The plot line felt developed and not thrown together and, for the first time, I didn't think they were working hard to 'push the envelope' which is actually one of my pet peeves with horror shows. Sometimes people think these sorts of programs and movies need to be gory to be good, but that isn't the case. Don't be mistaken, there is plenty of blood and 'what the eff' moments, like the Axe-Man, Madame LaLaurie's chamber of horrors and the utterly disturbing nature of Spalding.

The only thing I could have done without is the second musical appearance of Stevie Nicks. A bit too weird and 'why is this happening' for me.  If you have reservations about how 'good' American Horror Story is, take it from me, it's weird and wonderful.

And Kathy Bates needs to be in more things. She's magnificent.