Weekend Coffee Share: The Final Girls
If we were having coffee today, I’d ask if I could fumble through where I’m at before settling into contentedly listening to you. I’d much rather listen than talk these days. Truthfully, I’d really rather retreat to my closet and recharge there for about a month than just about anything else right now, and emerge only to spend time with my favorite little boys. That’s not an option, so …
You might have already picked up on that I’ve been feeling spread extra thin lately based on my reflections about others’ expectations and introversion earlier this week. There is constant stimulation and change around me, and the early week respite I’d hoped to help energize and keep me going appears to have vanished. So I must preserve what little energy I have, which I do–in part–by listening more than speaking.
Still, people often think you’re cold or inaccessible if you don’t speak at all, so I’d tell you I’ve been finding bits of energy in little things like my six-year-old son’s newfound love of Bad Kitty books. He laughs uproariously at least once every couple of chapters, and I’m in a similar boat. I’m excited that he can laugh so much while learning about things like the election process.
In things like my nineteen-month-old speaking up more words every day. Until the last couple of weeks, he’s been much more interested in signing than speaking with his mouth. He’s previously mostly used signs to express himself and his mouth to shriek when upset. The last week, he’s spoken new words like “apple,” “water,” and “gramma.” I’m enjoying listening him learn to express himself with a little more nuance than are afforded by ear-splitting shrieks of rage.
I’d tell you how much I was touched by The Final Girls, which I watched alone yesterday morning and then with my bigger two boys in the evening. Never could I have dreamed of being so touched by a camp slasher flick, especially one so hilarious, but this … this was also about our connections to our deceased parents.
(I’d note this is shorthand for, “I cried.” My mom loved horror. I felt like I was watching this one with her.)
My husband the movie buff had already told me a couple of interesting facts about the movie by its end. First, it began as a tribute to one of the writer’s fathers, who played a priest in The Exorcist, an inspiration on which he touches beautifully here. Secondly, the movie was initially optioned by New Line, which tried to minimize the mother/daughter elements of the movie and focus on the slasher ones. Sony ended up running with the movie and, phew, am I glad it did. Lots of people could write a camp slasher parody, but few could write one with so much heart.
(Which is to say, I’d be brushing tears away from my eyes all over again trying to explain it to you. So. Good!)
I’d tell you that I hope you’ll check out my Q&A with La Sabrosona tomorrow; though my part was challenging to write with where I’m at right now, writing it was important to me. Usually when I write about my mom’s mental illness and my experiences navigating it, I gravitate toward the same handful of memories and emotions. This Q&A gave me a chance to speak to different parts of the experience, which means a chance that someone else might find a grain of strength they need to continue through their own struggles.
I’d tell you I’m even more glad now for Thanksgiving weekend than when I wrote “Is it Thanksgiving yet?” That I hope you’ll have a lovely week, and that I want to hear everything–everything!–about what’s been going on with you, or at least as much as you want to tell.
Having spoken my part, I’d be so happy simply to listen.