A Wrinkle in Time: The Book, The Movie, and Moi

Yes, yes, it's been a while since I've written a post here. But you know what, I'm not going to beat around the bush here and apologize, I'm just gonna jump right into it because I just saw A WRINKLE IN TIME in theaters AND

Wow.

Okay.

So many, many, many thoughts.

SO. many. FEELINGS.

In fact, they are ALL of my feelings, both the good and bad, and that is not necessarily a bad thing. This movie is confusing, lovely, cringey, heartfelt, over-the-top, gorgeous.........it is ALL OF THE THINGS. IT IS ALL OF THE FEELINGS. And it's kind of awesome because of it.

Okay, okay, bear with me, I'm going to try and organize my thoughts here, gimme a sec.

So. Okay. A Wrinkle in Time was one of my absolute favorite books as a kid. And it's still one of my favorite books as an adult. The Time Quintet (the name of the series it starts) remains one of my favorite favorite FAVORITE series to return to. I still remember how I first found these books, when I was with my family on one of our many road-trips to Utah, and as per tradition we stopped at the BYU bookstore to pick something out. I was perusing the kid's section, and saw THIS cover:

I, lover of epic sci-fi and pretty horses that I was, immediately had to read it. And thus was this course begun.

A lot of people, when they talk about why they love A Wrinkle in Time, often cite Meg (the main character) as their favorite part. How flawed she is, how relateable she is, how real she is. And I can definitely see that. I, personally, absolutely loathed her character as a kid. Why? For precisely the same reasons everyone else loved her. Because I saw way too much of myself in her. She was TOO flawed, TOO human, WAY TOO MUCH like me. And it went way beyond the limits of my suspension of disbelief to imagine someone's faults actually being an important part of who they are, essential to their humanity and their virtues. Now, I can appreciate who the character of Meg is, and who she is portraying (i.e. all of us, except that we're not all math geniuses but that's okay), but back then I was like "AAAAGGGGHHHHH Meg is so WHINY. Why does she say stuff like this? UGH. SO immature!"

Heh. Heh heh. Yeah, sure, 11-year-old Laura. Whatever you say.

At any rate, what I was trying to get to was describing why I, personally, loved this book. And that reason was, it scratched an itch I did not know that I had: a story that had depth, with a huge, deep universe that was mysterious, and remained mysterious.

That probably wasn't a very good way of saying it. Let me try again by talking about something else that I love, the Myst series of games.

I grew up watching my dad and my siblings play the Myst games, and I was drawn into this world that those games created - mysterious worlds that you explored and slowly learned about, sometimes with the help of journal entries and cutscenes, but mostly on your own. Experiencing those games as a kid, when I didn't know how to read or what anyone was really saying in the cutscenes, with only a vague idea as to what the ultimate goal was, I was entranced. I loved the feeling of being somewhere I knew nothing about, exploring and learning bit by bit, stumbling across answers here and there but never really knowing everything about this place I was in. The idea of there being multiple worlds, and being able to travel between them, was mind-blowing to me. And not understanding how it all worked just made it so much richer. One of my biggest irritations with modern-day books - or any kind of book - is exposition. I don't mind a little bit here and there, but I really hate it when everything is explained, straight up. Do I really need to know how your complicated magic system works? Do I really need to know the long history of this old kingdom? Do I really, seriously, need to hear how the magical lamp your character uses is made?

To me, it deprives the story of depth and complexity. It's good to have a huge, detailed world in your stories, but you don't have to reveal all of it at once. In fact, some of it should be kept secret, or left up to speculation. Speculating is one of my favorite things to do as a reader, and consumer of other media, and I know it's a favorite thing for many, many other people as well. And sometimes, it's kind of cool to just....not know.

That is the story I didn't even know I wanted. And A Wrinkle in Time gave it to me.

What's more, another rare thing that I hardly ever find in any kind of media is a genuine sense of goodness - kindness, love, compassion, empathy. While I can appreciate how excellent the Game of Thrones series is, I am very tired of that kind of thing. I get enough of that kind of thing in...well, reality.

Don't get me wrong, I hate perfectly clean, scrubbed-up schmaltz. It leaves a really bad taste in my mouth, even more so than darker media does. But there's a difference between emotionally manipulative schmaltz and truly good-hearted, loving media.

The characters in A Wrinkle in Time are not perfect. Far, FAR from it. But it's their imperfections that makes their goodness so real. If that makes any sense. I dunno, it's 1 am over here and I really should be in bed.

At any rate, I really love this book. Obviously. And when I heard that Disney was going to be doing a movie adaptation of it, I was both really excited and really, really apprehensive. This is not the book's first time at the movie adaptation rodeo. And it did not go well the first time.

hoo boy.

I only saw the first ten minutes of this movie, and it was pretty terrible. I know there are probably people out there who have a lot of nostalgia for this movie and probably really love it, but I am not one of those people. sorry.

BUT when Disney started releasing cast pictures and concept art, and....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4U3TeY2wtM

.....well, I just got really excited.

I'm a sucker for good visuals, I know. I am also a sucker for awesome costumes, and awesome music. Really, all of this marketing was made especially for suckers like me. And obviously it worked because I went ahead and saw the movie.

And now I will actually write what I was meaning to write this whole time, and that is my way-too-detailed thoughts about this movie.

And that is.....well, as I said, I loved it.

And I'm willing to admit that it's not a great movie, at least the way other people want it to be a great movie.

It is definitely very, very flawed. Cringeworthy, in many parts. Really messy. All over the place. Sometimes has surprisingly bad green screen and dumb lines. Critics have been really divided over this movie, and it's not surprising. This is definitely a movie that you actually have to go and see all the way through in order to determine how you feel about it. I know that sounds kind of dumb ("well, duh, that's how you figure out how you feel about anything") but you'd be amazed how quick people are to decide how they feel about something before actually experiencing it. In regards to this movie, I can definitely see why people wouldn't like it. If you're looking at it from a professional critic's point of view, running over all the mechanics and plot and so on, you are going to be disappointed. It is not going to deliver what you want it to deliver. It is going to do its own thing. Even if that thing is a bit embarrassing and makes you want to avoid eye contact with it at parties.

I will admit that I began the movie with that sinking feeling, as the beginning seemed to tumble all over itself establishing the story and characters. It felt sincere, but didn't seem to know where to start.

But, after a while, I started to slowly warm up to it. 

And then there was one part in the movie that I reached where my whole perspective did a very painful 180 and smacked me right in childhood-based insecurities and adult-based loneliness and cynicism. 

And what makes it funny is that it's during a scene that I know most critics are, well, criticizing. Because it is kind of dumb. But there's this one piece of it that turned the whole thing around for me. 

At one point, Meg, her brother Charles Wallace, her friend Calvin, and the mysterious cosmic beings Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who and Mrs. Which go to visit another mysterious entity known as the Happy Medium. Now, in the book, the Happy Medium is a woman living in a cave (a very comfy one, just so you know) who's (obviously) very cheerful and has a big crystal ball through which she can see the entire universe. Literally. She hates seeing anything sad or upsetting in any way - not because it ruins her good times, but because she feels so deeply for the people experiencing those sad, upsetting things. Her whole point in the book is to show the kids the evil they're up against, while also giving them hope by showing how that evil is being fought and overcome all the time.

And in the movie, playing the Happy Medium we have......Zach Galifianakis. 

.....

hm. 

This was the casting I was the most unexcited about, and while I was surprised with how much I did end up liking him in the movie, it was still an awkward transition. 

In this particular scene, the main characters come to visit in the Happy Medium in his cave of precariously balanced crystals. In order to find what they're looking for, they have to balance on these crystals and allow themselves to....um....find a happy medium. Whatever that means.

Meg, unlike everyone else, is having a lot of trouble finding her balance - both figuratively and literally. She's full of emotional turmoil and uncertainty. Everyone else seems to have it down, with little effort, while she's struggling just to stay upright. And when they have to come together with the Happy Medium in order to conjure up a vision of where Meg's father is, she can't do it. In order to find out where her father is, she has to think about him. And for some reason, she can't bear to think about him.

At this point, Mrs. Which hesitantly explains the true gravity of their situation: they aren't just looking for her father, they are (essentially) trying to recruit him. They are fighting an ancient evil, a darkness that is simply called "the IT" (just "IT" in the books). The IT can overtake whole planets, not through conquering or mass destruction, but through thoughts and feelings. IT spreads it influence one person at a time, through their fears and their anger and all of the worst parts of themselves. IT doesn't need to cause destruction on its own because IT can manipulate people into creating their own destruction. IT, basically, turns people on themselves.

Meg finally sees what she's really up against, and the Happy Medium decides to take her aside and help her conjure up a vision on her own, to find where her father is. While Meg is struggling to balance on these weird crystal things in the cave while also trying to focus on her father, she confesses to the Medium what her hangup with trying to find her father is: what if she doesn't like what she finds out? What if....her father doesn't want to be found?

Now, in this particular incarnation, the Happy Medium is kind of a grump. Or at least, kind of comes off that way. But here, as he helps Meg keep her balance on these weird crystal things, he tells her that it's important for her to search for answers - even if they're not good ones. He also tells her that she is fully capable of finding him. She's just not letting herself do it.

With this encouragement, Meg closes her eyes and manages to conjure up a vision of her father, trapped far away on a planet that has given in to IT. As she comes out of it, seeing the course they have to take, the Medium bends down and clasps her hands, telling her, "Your father would never abandon you. You're too precious."

 For some reason, out of this whole movie where there were certainly more purposefully powerful and beautiful moments, this was the scene I was crying at. Earlier, we had a scene where Space Oprah/Mrs. Which gave Meg a sincere speech about loving herself and not wanting to be anyone else. Why didn't I cry there? Or at the part where Meg and her father are reunited (spoilers, btw)? Or any part involving Space Oprah giving us her sparkly browed wisdom? I don't know. But for some reason, it was this. Freaking. Scene. That got me going. 

The only reason I can figure out for crying at this point was definitely unearthing some not-so-great feelings about myself and my place in the world. I, like far too many people who live, have lived, and will live, struggle with loneliness. I don't feel like a very loveable, interesting or even good person. And I'm not saying that to earn pity points, I'm saying that because it is how I genuinely feel. A lot of the reason I spend most of my time by myself in my apartment doing art is because I can't imagine why anyone would want to spend time with me. It's nobody's fault but mine, and it's a huge, unhealthy distortion that I am struggling to overcome. But it's always there, and I can't ignore it. I'm also very cynical about the world in general - I don't really believe that there are very many genuinely good people out there, and that's another huge (not to mention incredibly unfair) distortion that's more a self-defense mechanism than anything else.

Basically, I don't have faith in humanity, and I don't have faith in myself. 

At the center of it all is a deeply imbedded feeling of isolation. It's a feeling that I've buried underneath years of becoming comfortable with  solitude, with nursing my social anxiety rather than facing it,  with burying myself in books, TV and video games. It's a feeling that will sometimes just suddenly hit me when I'm standing by myself at work, chopping up vegetables for some dressing or salad. It hit me hard in high school when I was eating lunch in the computer lab by myself, as I usually did, and then I looked up and saw a couple of happy-sounding girls walk past the window. I suddenly felt my throat constrict, and I immediately lost my appetite. I couldn't eat anything for the rest of the day. 

It hits me often as I sit at my tablet, trying to figure out how to tell a story, battling my own mind as it tries to think of anything else besides doing art. 

I feel alone. Very, very alone. Completely separate from anyone else. Not special. Not superior. Just separate.

And that's just how it is. The world - the universe - owes you nothing. No one's going to make room for you, so you have to make room for yourself. Etc., etc., etc.

But then, in this moment of this movie, when a borderline divine cosmic being who is billions of years old bends down to tell an unhappy teenage girl from Earth that she is precious..... I don't know. It's a powerful, incredible thought.

Maybe it's really corny. It might even sound really stupid to a critic who's watching it. We live in a very cynical world. And it's always been that way, no matter what people say about the times we live in now. The world is a very dark, unhappy, angry, selfish, greedy, filthy place.

But it's also a beautiful, immense, loving, kind, good place. And there ought to be some room for that, too.

From there, this movie took on a whole new perspective for me. It still had dumb moments, it still made me cringe at times. But I saw it through it a different lense, because of that one moment with top-knotted Zach Galifianakis and a badly green-screened cave. To me, it had become a story not only about a girl trying to find her father, but about the whole universe going out of its way to show this one girl how precious she is.

And I don't know about you, but I think we could do with more of that.

Tears and self-esteem aside, this movie is absolutely gorgeous. Don't let my tales of bad green screen deter you - the amazing visuals far outweigh the bad ones. The directors here obviously decided that, rather than try to do a super faithful shot-by-shot adaptation of the book (which would not have worked, because A Wrinkle in Time is not that kind of book) they would do their own thing, while keeping to the spirit and story of the book. They took a lot of risks, and often deviated from the source material, but I think, overall, it worked. I am so glad they took those risks, and did something completely unexpected and different. I love the presentation, the music, the actors, the story - I love all of it. It may be a mess, but it's a gorgeous, lovely mess.

That being said, I can see a fan of the book seeing it and not liking it for those exact same reasons. And that's perfectly understandable. But I would advise keeping an open mind and letting the movie stand on its own. The book still exists, and will continue to exist. The movie can't ruin that.

One critic remarked that, while he didn't like it, he could see this movie becoming something of a cult classic - maybe becoming this generation's Hook. Although A Wrinkle in Time has already done a lot better than Hook did in theaters, I can see what he means. It's just that kind of movie.

My Worst Nightmare(s)

This post is literally about what it says in the title: my worst nightmare. As in, the worst nightmare I have actually had, whilst asleep, that I actually distinctly remember.

I was a really anxious little kid, who suffered from frequent panic attacks that would come out of the blue and have me go from being perfectly fine one minute to violently throwing up/dry-retching at any time of the day - most commonly, at night. So many weird things scared me, and as these things often do, they showed up in my dreams.

For example, as a really little kid (like 5 or so) I had a vivid dream of being tickled by scarecrows after they cornered me in my bedroom closet. They didn't kill me or try to hurt me in any other way - they just tickled me in the exact place I hated being tickled: my neck. I do recall that this dream happened sometime around Halloween, which might explain the scarecrows (I think I went to a corn maze or something around this time that had a few of them as decoration). What all the rest of the stuff meant, I have no idea. But the memory still sticks with me, vividly, almost 20 years later.

so terrifying

Looking back on that, I am both a bit amused by and sad about that dream, because compared to Real Stuff that happened later, and other certain nightmares I have had (which we will get to in a sec), it was really innocent and not actually all that scary at all. I mean, I distinctly remember these scarecrows not actually wishing me any kind of ill will - they just wanted to tickle me. But I think my terror at being tickled (specifically, on my neck) came from a fear of having my space violated and having no control over what happened to me, no matter how hard I tried to hide. I wasn't ever molested or abused or anything (for which I am incredibly thankful), but I think at this time I was really scared of people doing bad things to me - what bad things, I don't know, just bad things. I think this was a combination of common childhood frustration of having no say over what happens to you and some paranoia from my anxiety. It was a very "adult" kind of fear, being processed by the mind of a little kid.

I remember going to my mom and telling her about this dream, and she told me to imagine myself just floating up into the air and away from the scary stuff, going so far up and up until the scarecrows and everything that was bugging me became small and tiny. Looking back on that, writing about it, I am just now realizing just how creative and deeply empathetic that answer actually was. My mom experiences strong anxiety as well (she often jokes that I "came by it honestly"), and she knew how I felt. Just because I was a little kid, it didn't mean that my fears weren't valid. I mean, my anxiety wasn't really grounded in reality, but it was messing with my brain in a very real way, and the best way to address it was to remember that I was actually in control - not my fear.

Of course, I didn't actually understand this until much, much, muuuuuuch later, as a young adult. And by that point, I had both Real Life Stuff and more nightmares happen to me. And the one that I remember the most distinctly - the one that still sends chills down my spine and makes me sleep with the light on at night, as a 24-year-old college almost-graduate - came sometime early in my high school career, during either my freshman or sophomore year.

So, way past the tickling scarecrows in my closet.

At the time, I had moved into my own room after sharing with my little sister for the first 14 years of my life. The room I got was the one my older brother (JOHN) had lived in before leaving on his mission. He had definitely put his own stamp on it, the most noteworthy of which were the CDs he glued to the ceiling for some reason and the words painted on the wall in eerie green glow-in-the-dark paint. I have absolutely no idea what was going through his head when he did that, but after a few days of being really creeped out by the word "GONE" painted in gigantic letters on the wall right across from my bed, I covered them up with posters.

In addition to...that....there were two other things about this room that creeped me out: 1) the closet, which had sliding mirror doors that always left the closet at least half-covered, thus providing the perfect hiding spot for any psychotic ax-wielding intruders that wanted to murder me, and also freaking me out when I had to get up to go to the bathroom at night and mistaking my reflection for another person in the room; and 2) the window. I was on the ground floor, and it overlooked the front yard. There were these gigantic wind chimes right by the front door, that would chime alarmingly at the slightest breeze, and bang against the wall during particularly large squalls. Additionally, there were coyotes that would sometimes come and howl right outside my window, and a gigantic rosemary bush that would tap on the glass whenever there was wind.

Why would someone invent this

To top it all off, this was the darkest room in the whole house (apart from the guest room/my younger sisters' bedroom, which has stories of its own that I might save for another blog post), and I could hear even the quietest steps whenever someone approached the front door.

With all this going on, I wasn't even the least bit scared of the spiders living in my bedside lamp.

In short, it was the perfect room to have nightmares in. Even after sleeping in there for five years, I still kept a light on at night, and had a fan going full blast to drown out any creepy noises. At the beginning of my time there, my mom often said that I could move back to sharing a room with my sister if I wanted, but I was really stubborn and did not want to admit defeat. I will say this for my teenage self: I may have had an anxiety disorder, but I was no wuss.

And I'd like to think that, over time, I made the room enough of my own that it wasn't so scary. Despite all of the nightmare-inducing noises and shadows and ghostly glowing letters, I really came to love that room.

Of course, that didn't mean it didn't give me nightmares, which is what we're talking about.

The nightmare in question actually had two parts. I was in a room that was very similar to my bedroom, very dimly lit, at night. The closet mirror doors were there, and I could see my reflection in them. There were other people in the room with me. Well, "people". They were actually aliens. But they were invisible. I think. It's hard to remember. Anyway, I was in there with them, and they were all walking around and talking about...something. I don't know. I still remember what these aliens looked like: they were tall, with back-bent animal legs, slimy-looking, semi-translucent light green skin, tall spines growing down their head and back like a Mohawk, and long tails. I can't remember what their faces looked like, only that they were vaguely human-like.

(Actually, they looked pretty similar to the xenomorphs from the Alien series. But somehow way creepier.)

What I was doing in that room with these aliens, I have no idea. I just knew that they scared me and I did not want to be with them. But then I turned around and looked in the mirror, and saw one of them looking back at me. Plot twist, I had turned into one of them somehow.

(no, I have never seen District 9, stop asking)

When I saw that reflection, I was filled with this deep terror, such as I had never ever felt before in my life, or since. I have no idea where this reaction came from, or why I only felt it then. But ever since then, I've had a deep-seated fear of gigantic eyes.

STOP LOOKING AT ME

Despite the intense terror I was feeling, I did not wake up. Instead, the dream transitioned to another scene, where I was back to being human and sitting in my bedroom. Again, it was nighttime, and the room was dimly lit. I was on my bed, able to turn my head but unable to otherwise move. I was aware of another presence in my room, an invisible one. I didn't know what it was, exactly, but I knew that it was evil and that it wanted to hurt me. It was toying with me first, though. It went around the room, turning on my CD player, rattling the mirrors, messing with my lamp - small things, to let me know it was still there, and that I couldn't get away.

I woke up before it did anything to me, but I was absolutely terrified. It took me a while to realize that the dream wasn't real. There was no way that I was going to sleep for the rest of the night, and I hardly slept at all for the next few days. I got up, shaking, and like a little kid I went and knocked on my parents' door. My dad answered, sleepy and not happy, and in an embarrassed, shaky voice I told him that I'd had a nightmare and couldn't sleep. I couldn't say for sure why I went to my mom and dad for comfort in the middle of the night - I guess, for a few minutes, I was back to being a little kid again, hoping for someone to stay up with me when I had panic attacks at night.

My dad took a different approach, though (he had work early in the morning and needed his sleep), and told me that dreams are just dreams, and that they aren't reality. I was safe, no one was trying to hurt me, and things would feel better by morning. I agreed unhappily. With that, I went back to my room. And then to the bathroom. Where I sat for the rest of the night. With the light on.

(the bathroom was my safe place, in case you were wondering. It was small, brightly lit, and had no hidden spaces or windows. Perfect for panic recovery.)

This nightmare was different from all others that I had had in that it actually kind of changed me. I was going through a really difficult time back then, and was battling severe depression. I hated school, didn't have many friends, and was worried about my future. In a weird way, I was scared of my anxiety - I was scared that it was going to hold me back, that I would never be able to live on my own or hold down a job or even go to college, that I would die alone, that people would think I was crazy, that I really was nothing more than some stupid, slow kid who couldn't handle real life. Back then, it was a malevolent presence in my mind, about to gobble me up at any second. It became my own personal boogeyman, that followed me around every day.

I can't say for sure if that's really the definitive source for this really scary dream I had, or if it really was just my brain making up crap, but....that was oddly specific crap. And it is crap I haven't been able to completely forget, a little over a decade later.

Whatever it was, I changed a little bit after that. I mean, I still hated school, still didn't have a lot of friends (apart from my best friends Elizabeth and Ellie whom I will love and cherish forever for sticking with me despite my weirdness), and I was still afraid of what might happen in the future. But after this dream, I think something started turning in my brain, slowly going forward until it gained momentum. I continued grimly through high school, had a few more episodes with panic and depression, and began to look at my options after graduation. With the feeling of jumping into thin air with absolutely no guarantee of a safe landing, I signed up to go to Russia as a volunteer English teacher right after I graduated, not knowing anyone else who was going and or even a tiny bit of Russian. I determinedly applied only to out-of-state colleges, with the intention of getting an art degree. I think my goal at the time was to get myself as far outside of my comfort zone as I could possibly get, put myself in a situation so terrifying that I'd never be scared or anxious again after experiencing it.

It kind of worked.

I mean, I'm sitting here now, in Idaho, a few hundred miles from home, about to graduate with a degree in Illustration, after being an English teacher in Russia and a full-time missionary in Arizona. So something went right.

I still have panic attacks from time to time, of course. But they're small ones. I don't throw up anymore. Which is nice.

Since then, I've come to realize that there isn't a boogeyman in my head that wants to eat me. The boogeyman is (to put it pretentiously) me. It is a part of me.. It is not a separate entity that is trying to hurt me. And while I have no control over anyone else or what they do, I have control over me.

That's the moral here, I guess. Which I did NOT intend to be writing about when I started this post. I began writing this because I watched a video on BuzzFeed about nightmare interpretation and remembered this fun little nugget from my past. So I thought it'd be interesting to revisit this and then ask other people what life-changing sorts of nightmares they've had. Or maybe just weird nightmares. We've already talked about tickling scarecrows, so there's really no limit to weirdness here.

Of Bodies, Brains and Barfing

I've always had a sensitive stomach. 

Like....really sensitive. 

Why I have a really sensitive stomach is actually pretty straightforward. The explanation can easily be divided into two parts, the first part being: 

CHILDHOOD PANIC ATTACKS 

Anxiety runs in my family. Grandparents on both sides had it, my mom has it, various aunts/uncles/cousins have it, it's just a part of our genetic code. But we all experience it a little differently. 

My anxiety was all in my stomach. 

I'm not 100% sure on the origin of this manifestation, but if I had to guess....I'd say that a long time ago I was really scared of throwing up. Really, really scared. This isn't an entirely uncommon fear - I've met plenty of people who are terrified at the prospect of vomit - but for some reason this was the one fear that my anxiety latched on to. Whenever I started feeling nauseated, I would immediately freak out because I knew - I knew - that I was going to throw up. While all previous experience showed me that throwing up would not, in fact, kill me, I was still pretty convinced that it was the WORST THING EVER and that if I threw up, terrible terrible things would happen and I would probably not live through it. 

So, my anxiety aggravated my nausea, which aggravated my anxiety, which aggravated my nausea, etc. etc. etc. 

And so it came to be that whenever I was nervous or scared, I immediately started feeling my stomach turning inside out, ready to relinquish its contents if I so much as breathed. Later on, this evolved to include diarrhea and cramps and basically anything having to do with my digestive system. 

And when I actually had actual stomach flu or something similar....

Yeah, let's not talk about that. 

This leads to the second part of my explanation, which is:

FOOD

So....I've always kind of had trouble with food.

I like food. Love it, even. Trouble is, it hasn't always loved me back.

My mom (a nurse) always suspected that I was sensitive to some foods, but it was never so serious that it warranted a lot of concern. She would just remind me that I needed to be careful about what I ate, and I - in true childlike fashion - completely ignored her and ate what I wanted anyway. Regardless of how it made me feel later. 

Fast forward several years later, to me as a young, idealistic, seriously stressed out missionary serving in Tucson, Arizona. 

One of the areas where my anxiety is strongest is social interaction, and missions are pretty much nothing but social interaction with complete strangers. You live with someone you don't know 24/7, weekends and holidays included. If you get along, it's great. If you don't....well, it's pretty much hell. 

Not only that, there is a lot work that a missionary does besides going out and talking to people about religion. There's planning, studying, training, service, counseling, teaching, teaching, teaching, worrying about teaching and the people you teach, and so on. One of the rules states that you have to have a productive activity planned for every hour of your day. You cannot skimp here. You have to be doing something at any given time. It is a must. Always. 

So it was really stressful. But most missionaries actually handle it pretty well. It's a difficult adjustment, but with practice it's easy to get into a routine. And you do get breaks, every so often, so it's not constant work. 

I did get used to it. Kind of. My brain did, anyway. Kind of.

As you might have guessed by now, though, my brain and my body have a very dysfunctional relationship, and my body had decided that I had asked too much of it and it was now time to rebel.

I started getting sick. A lot. And it wasn't something that came from anxiety attacks. It was something that felt downright sinister. I would feel fine one day, and then the next I would be sitting on the bathroom floor praying for death as my body  attempted to expunge what felt like all of its fluids. The funny thing was, this wasn't accompanied by a fever or fatigue (except that borne of, y'know, throwing up) like the flu would be, and it was happening too often to be a stomach bug. When I wasn't being sick all over the place, I was capable of getting out of bed and being a (somewhat) productive member of society. It was happening more and more often, as well. Which was worrying.

Again, my Mother the Nurse had her suspicions. When I eventually came home from my mission (early, due in great part to my reappearing illness), she immediately had me go and see a doctor, who took some of my blood in order to run allergy tests. 

About two weeks later, I got the results back, and my whole life suddenly made complete sense. 

Turns out, I was allergic to everything. 

Well, okay, not to everything, but to the three things I and the rest of the American population ate on a regular basis (beef, whey and eggs), with at least minor sensitivity of pretty much everything else. 

Adjustment, as you might imagine, was hard. 

In fact, it still is. 

Food is a very integral part of any culture. It's a basic need for all forms of life, whether it's human or plant or germ or whatever. And for many people in first world countries, food is also a major part of our entertainment and comfort. It's weird, but it's true. I get cranky when I look in the fridge and don't see anything I like. I'm very spoiled that way, I guess.

Short story, food is special. It affects us in ways that we don't even realize. A quiet dinner table becomes alight with conversation when good food is shared. Apologies are always accepted (well, almost always) when food is involved. (Apology cookies, anyone?) Tempers are soothed, sadness is comforted, exhaustion is eased when you smell the warm smells of cooking and baking from the kitchen. You can't help but feel so loved when someone cooks for you. It's just a deeply ingrained part of who we are.

So, you can imagine how I felt when I was told to avoid anything I was even slightly sensitive to for three weeks after getting my diagnosis. 

I tried to have a good attitude about it, I really did. Finally, I knew what was wrong with me (well, the physical part of it, anyway), and finally, I was going to do something about it. I knew it would be hard, but it would totally be worth it. And I wouldn't throw up quite so often anymore, which was nice.

And so it began. 

And it....just.....sucked. 

I loathed my new diet. With a deep-seated vengeance normally reserved for things like people who abuse animals and Donald Trump. I absolutely detested every meal. Oh, sure, I put on a brave face, maybe even said I liked it, but deep down inside the monster of anger was howling with suppressed rage. 

Sure, I felt better. Sure, I was losing weight. But I hated every single hateful minute of it. 

And the thing was, I just couldn't understand why.

WHY did I feel like crying when I sat down to eat dinner with my family? WHY was this such a big deal? It was only food. I should be grateful to live in a country where I have access to food like this. Even if it is a stale block of ground rice and glue failing at being bread. I've never been super picky eater. I take pride in being open to (almost) anything edible. 

So why in the name of all that is good and holy was I so freaking miserable? 

It wasn't until I talked about it with my counselor that I figured it out. I told her what I was feeling, and raged and cried for a bit for no apparent reason. She observed me, and then, smiling sadly, said, "Laura, what you're feeling is grief. You've lost something, and you're sad about it. That's perfectly normal."

And once again, everything made sense.

I was grieving. I was grieving for the food I couldn't eat anymore.

It sounded so incredibly stupid. But it made absolutely perfect sense.

At that time, my mind was not at its most stable. I had just returned home after an incredibly stressful, depressing, occasionally traumatic period in my life, and was getting used to being a part of the "normal" world again. Now I was being told that an integral part of my life that had stayed constant even on my mission - food - was going to change. Dramatically. And unless I was okay with being sick again, there was nothing I could do about it. 

I realized, then, that I wasn't just having a tantrum because I couldn't eat ice cream and pizza anymore. 

I was sad and angry because my life was changing. Because I had to change, if I wanted to get better. I was angry because I felt like I was being forced into it. I was sad because no one else seemed to think it was a big deal.

Even though it really was.

I think we forget how much those seemingly small things mean to us. When those things are taken away, or are changed permanently, we react. We rage, we cry, we sit in dumb silence as we process what's going on. We're just a big mess for while, while the whole world rearranges itself and we get rearranged with it.

And that's okay. 

For everyone having to adjust to a new lifestyle, even if that adjustment doesn't seem like a big deal: 

It's okay to be angry. 

It's okay to be sad. 

You are not being unreasonable. 

You're just being human. 

Anyone who tells you that it's not a big deal either doesn't understand or is trying to downplay it. They probably mean well. But that doesn't mean they're right.

You are allowed to be imperfect. You are allowed to be you. And you will sometimes have to change.

But that doesn't mean the world is ending. You just need to take a few moments to understand what's going on. Even if you never really come to understand it at all.

 I did eventually get used to my new diet. More or less. After 3 weeks, I had calmed down a little (entering into the Acceptance part of the grieving process, I guess) and was more willing to experiment with new recipes. I started eating some of the food I was sensitive to again (it's kind of impossible to avoid garlic, gluten and peanut butter all at the same time in modern day America. I choose my battles.) and my body was okay with it. I've had many, many, many, many slip-ups with the other, much more deadly foods I'm supposed to avoid. And my body has made me regret it every single time.

I'm constantly renewing my promise to myself to be healthier. Like this: "TODAY, from this day FORTH, now and FOREVER, I am AVOIDING anything with BEEF, DAIRY, or EGGS." 

"SO MOTE IT BE." 

"seriously guys it's for real this time." 

And then two days later there's a birthday party or someone orders a delicious-looking pizza or I'm just tired and hungry and stop caring about my future self, and I relapse. 

It's a process. A long, long process. 

And that is okay. 

I am getting better, slowly but surely. I'm taking more responsibility for what I eat, and how I act. I'm better at being assertive and telling people about my needs, as well as refusing offered food if it contains things I can't eat. Even if I unintentionally hurt someone's feelings. 

I'm learning to take care of myself. And that takes time. 

Over the past few years, I've decided that, rather than make a goal about losing weight or earning more money or whatever, I'm going to make a goal to be happy. Now, it's not the "fake it till you make it" kind of "positive attitude". Man, I hate those attitudes. It's more, "I am going to do what I can to be happy. Not skinny, not famous, not rich, not pretty. Just happy."

And happy, as I'm sure you know, is not something you catch and hold forever. It comes and it goes. But there is an overall feeling that, even if everything else is going to hell, you at least know that good things are somewhere ahead. Even if they seem kind of far away.

I'm not going to pretend that I'm an expert on positive thinking. In fact, for years I absolutely detested anything having to do with the "power of positive thinking". I still kind of do sometimes. Mostly when other people are telling me about it. But I think that's because it gets a little lost in translation. Sometimes, all positive thinking is is just having the will to make it through another thirty seconds. Sometimes it's having dance parties in your living room. Sometimes it's just being thankful for what you have.

All the time, though, it's a journey. And definitely not a destination. 

Little Blue Man

Hey!

So this is a script I've been working on for a short story. It's for a class, but I'm actually incorporating it into my Big Epic Webcomic project which will happen someday. Feedback much appreciated!

Here is the protagonist:

And here is the script.

Little Blue Man

(First shot is of a child dropping a candy wrapper on a train. A hand reaches down, picks it up, and starts folding it into a flower.)

(The train comes to a stop.)

Conductor: ASRA STATION! ASRA STATION!

Birdy (sitting across from the main character, Blue): This is ours.

(Blue gets up, tucking the paper flower into his pocket.)

(They get off, following the crowd of party-goers. We get a shot of the lavishly decorated street ahead.)

Birdy: You know what he looks like?

(Blue takes out a picture of a mustachioed man, looking down at it.)

Blue: Yep.

Birdy: Good.

Don't waste time.

(They separate. Blue walks down the street, ignoring the celebrations. He spots Mustache walking through a crowd, speaking to someone. Blue makes a beeline for him, preparing to draw his gun.)

(We see him pass below a balcony. On the balcony, a slightly drunken young woman dressed as a robin redbreast is laughing, and suddenly trips, toppling over the balcony railing. Blue immediately sees her, but is too late to avoid her crashing into him.)

(Blue lays on the ground, stunned. The girl struggles onto her elbows, and notices Blue. She scrabbles off of him.)

Robin: I'm so sorry! I'm so so sorry! God, are you okay?

(Blue struggles to his feet, rubbing his shoulder.)

Robin: Are you okay? ARE YOU OKAY?

(Blue looks at her.)

Blue: I'm...I'm fine. I think.

Robin: Oh, gods, I am such a klutz. I seriously didn't mean-

Blue: (Waving her off) It's fine, ma'am. No harm done.

Robin: Well......hey, let me make it up to you! I'll buy you a drink!

Blue: Um, no, that's quite -

Robin: Come on, it's the least I could do after almost killing you!

Blue: Really, there's nothin' to make up for, I'm-

(Robin grabs his wrist)

Robin: Come on!

(She drags him to a drink stand, and plops him down on one of the stools. He's very uncertain as to what he should do. He starts to get up to leave, but Robin suddenly appears with two drinks in her hands, placing one down before Blue.)

(Blue looks at it, clearly feeling very awkward. Robin smiles, looking at the drink and then up at him expectantly.)

Robin: Aren't you gonna drink?

Blue: (clearing throat) Um....I...uh....can't.

Robin: Huh? Why? You just gotta take off -

OH.

Oh, right. I'm so sorry, I forgot. Can't take off your mask until after midnight on the Day of A Million Faces. Right.

Blue: Yeessss.

That's right.

Robin: Sorry, I haven't lived here long. Don't know much about the customs and keep forgetting what I do know.

Ya know?

(collapses into helpless giggles)

Blue: Uh...huh.

(He looks up, catches a glimpse of Mustache walking into a distant building.)

Blue: (Getting up) Well, thank you very much for the drink, ma'am. I have some...friends who are waitin' for me. Should probably get to them.

Robin: (Grinning) M'kay.

Sorry again. 'Bout earlier.

Blue: Not a problem.

(turns around, looking very awkward)

(He makes his way through the crowd towards the building. He sees Mustache emerge onto a balcony.)

(He's about to head over when a crowd of costumed paraders comes barreling down the street. He's caught up in the parade and spends some time fighting for survival as he struggles to get free.)

(He finally manages to break free and flattens himself against a wall. He looks up, sees a pile of crates, and proceeds to climb on top of the wall. A loud blast suddenly goes off, startling him, and Blue stumbles, falling back and managing to grab hold of the edge of the wall. He tries to swing to the pile of crates, but another crowd knocks them over. He hangs there limply, lamenting his situation.)

(Robin, following the parade, sees him dangling in the alley and immediately goes over to him.)

Robin: Hey!

You okay?

(Blue looks at her, then back at the wall.)

Blue: Yes. Yes, I'm fine.

Robin: All right.

(she stands there watching him struggles. He attempts to lift himself over the wall, only to slip back.)

Blue: All right, fine.

Would you....mind...helping me?

Robin: (beaming) Sure thing!

(She stands on top of a crate, placing his feet on her shoulders. He lets go, and she helps him down.)

(He leans against the wall, rubbing his hands.)

Robin: You're a lot shorter than I thought.

Blue: Huh?

Robin: I didn't notice back there. Guess that's why you had such trouble with the wall.

Blue: Excuse me?

(A band starts playing. A circle clears out in the crowd, and people start dancing.)

(Robin looks over and grins)

Robin: (looking back at Blue) Dance with me?

Blue: What?

Robin: (grabbing his wrist again) Come on!

(she drags him out into the dance area, and takes him by the hands, swinging him around. Blue clutches his hat, startled. She starts dancing, and he looks around, seeing how happy everyone is, and hearing the music playing and seeing the bright colors. He looks down, and then back up at Robin, who's smiling encouragingly.)

(He grabs her by the waist, and starts to dance. They dance through the crowd, nearly running into other dancers and messing up the dance and generally having a wonderful time. We zoom out and see them in the street scene, with the other dancers.)

(The music eventually stops, and everyone claps. Robin trips, falling into Blue's arms and laughing helplessly.)

Robin: You're an amazing dancer!

Blue: (chuckles)

I don't think so, but I thank you for the compliment, ma'am.

Robin: Aoka.

Blue: Beg your pardon?

Robin: My name. Just so you stop calling me “ma'am”. It's Aoka.

Blue: I see.

(He looks up, seeing Mustache on the balcony. He then looks over and catches sight of Birdy sitting at a cafe table, watching.)

(He steps back from Aoka, and bows.)

Blue: I'm sorry, but I have to get going. There's some business I still have to tend to tonight.

It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Aoka.

Aoka: Aw, what business? Can't it wait?

(smiling)

We're having so much fun.

(Blue sighs)

Blue: I really enjoyed myself.

But I have to get this done, otherwise I'll get into big trouble.

Aoka: Oh. I see.

I can understand that.

(Blue tips his hat to her, and rushes off through the crowd.)

(she watches him go, and then suddenly runs forward)

Aoka: WAIT! I didn't get your-

(Blue vanishes)

Aoka:....name.

(she looks for a moment, and then turns away, smiling sadly.)

Aoka: Oh well.

(We return to following Blue. He goes into the building, climbing up the stairs.)

(Scene: Blue spots the Mustache Man standing on the balcony, empty chairs and tables all around him, his dog lolling on the ground at his feet. Blue approaches, slowly taking his gun out of its holster. He extends it out, aiming at the man’s head, and cocks it.)

Mustache: Not gonna do much good there, Rygarvik.

(Blue freezes)

Mustache: It's a fine party down there. Shame you're missing it.

It'd be a better use of your time.

(Blue slowly lowers his gun, taking a step back. His eyes are wide.)

(Mustache turns to look at him. He smiles.)

Blue: That's....you....

Mustache: Know your real name?

Blue: No one knows my name.

Mustache: I know everyone's name.

Blue: (backing away) Who...who are you?

Mustache: I'm a mountain.

And you're a toothpick.

Blue:...what?

Mustache: I'm way out of your league, boy. Let's just leave it at that.

And I think, on some level, you already know that. Otherwise, you'd have shot me.

(Blue looks down at his gun)

Mustache: You like that name? Blue?

(Blue looks up again)

Mustache: (leaning back, crossing his arms) When's the last time you answered to Rygarvik?

(Blue stares at his feet.)

Blue:....how do you know my name?

Mustache: As I said. I know everyone's name.

(his face softens, showing sympathy)

It's a real shame no one else knows yours.

It's a fine one.

(Blue continues to stare. His shoulders relax, he loosens his hold on the gun.)

(Mustache straightens, rubbing his sore back, and walks forward. The dog follows. As he passes Blue, he clasps his shoulder)

Mustache: You don't have any blood on your hands yet.

(He gives Blue's shoulder one last pat and walks on. The dog nuzzles his hand as it passes.)

(Blue stands there, blankly staring ahead for a few moments, before turning to look in the direction where Mustache vanished.)

(He then looks towards the party, and then heads downstairs, joining the crowd below. He walks through, and spots Robin. He tries to make his way towards her, and then notices Birdy sitting at one of the cafes, watching him. Blue halts, thinking. And then he walks directly towards him.)

Birdy: Done?

(Blue sits, not answering)

Birdy: (sighs) Thank goodness. Not sure how much longer I can take this mess.

Blue: I didn't kill him.

(Birdy pauses, and looks at him, dead in the eye. We see his eye, gleaming in the light behind his mask.)

Birdy: Why not?

(Blue raises his eyes, looks Birdy directly in the eye)

Blue: Because I didn't want to.

Birdy: I see.

You know, that's....a real, real shame, Blue.

Blue: Sure is for you, isn't it?

Birdy: You are out of line, slave.

Blue: Finally.

Birdy: What?

Blue: You finally said it like it was.

(Birdy draws out a gun. Blue bolts out of his chair, running through the crowd. Birdy pursues him, gun held aloft, scattering the crowd before him. He takes aim, shoots and misses.)

(Blue climbs up a wall and onto the rooftop. Birdy holsters his gun and shouts some words. His coat turns into wings and he takes off, flying after Blue as he runs across the rooftops.)

(Blue, seeing that Birdy's gaining on him, takes out his revolver and abruptly turns, sliding across the rooftop as he takes aim at Birdy's wing. He shoots, and hits his mark. Birdy falls, his feathers falling off as he resumes his human shape. He crashes through the roof. Blue quickly holsters his gun and takes off again. The crowd is drawn to the kerfuffle.)

(Blue slips into an alley, hiding. He waits until the crowd pass him, and then sneaks through, and finds himself at the train station.)

(He looks around. The clock suddenly tolls. He looks at the train clock, and sees that it's midnight.)

(He sees other people taking off their masks, and then slowly reaches up and starts undoing his own mask. He takes it off, and throws back his head, breathing in the air. He steps out of the shadows, tucking the mask away. He spots Aoka in a nearby crowd, about to board with some friends. Her mask is off.)

(Blue watches for a second, and then turns away, hoping to avoid notice.)

(Aoka catches sight of him, and rushes towards him.)

Aoka: Hey! HEY!

(Blue freezes, and turns around.)

Aoka: You're....I danced with you, right?

You're the guy with the creepy fang mask?

(Blue looks at her for a second, and then smiles, holding his mask up.)

Blue: Guilty.

Aoka: I knew it!

(she grins at him)

Wow. You're a lot better looking than I was thinking.

Blue: Eh?

Aoka: I figured that you covered up your face because you were embarrassed or a creep or something.

But you've actually got a really nice face.

Blue: Um.

Thank you?

Aoka: Hey, you wanna know something?

I'm really sorry I fell on you and nearly killed you.

But I'm also kind of glad that I did.

(Blue is startled)

Aoka: I had the best time dancing with you.

It was the most I fun I had all night.

(Blue is still more startled. But his mouth slowly creeps up into a small smile.)

(He reaches into his pocket and takes out the paper flower. He offers to Aoka.)

Aoka: Oh!

(Taking it)

Oh, wow.

Did you make this?

(Blue nods happily)

Aoka: Wow.

It's beautiful.

(train horn blows. They look up, startled.)

Aoka: (looking at Blue) Hey, are you headed to Samare, too? Maybe we could ride together.

Blue: (hesitates, and then sighs) I'm...afraid not.

I'm headed much further out.

Aoka: Oh.

Well....hey, what's your name?

I'm sorry, I forgot to ask.

(Blue smiles)

Blue: Rygarvik.

Aoka: Rygarvik?

Wow. That's a mouthful.

Blue: Heh. It is.

Aoka: But it's still a really nice name.

Blue: Thank you.

(Train horn blows again.)

Conductors: LAST CALL! ALL ABOARD!

(Aoka quickly bends down and kisses Rygarvik on the cheek.)

Aoka: Hope to see you around, Rygarvik.

(Ry is stunned.)

(Aoka runs off, smiling and giving him a wave. She boards the train, which then promptly starts chugging off.)

(Ry watches it take off. As it vanishes into the darkness, he takes a step down onto the track, watching it go. Then, he turns around, and looks down at the mask in his hands.)

(He tosses it onto the tracks, and starts walking, in the opposite direction the train is going. He melts into the darkness as well.)

(Last shot is of the mask lying on the track, gleaming in the lamplight.)