A good friend once told me that the title "best friend" isn't any one person, but a tier. I can attest to that, and I am so grateful to be able to add Rina t...
We were driving aimlessly through the isolated roads in Maine trying to get to Camden, a picture perfect coastal town. My mom spotted boats off in the horizon and without much speculation, we changed our course.
I dreamed of going to Seattle for most of my adult life. I couldn’t really tell you why. Perhaps it’s because the PNW reminded me of the west coast version of New England. Maybe it was my love for Practical Magic or The Ring? Or perhaps it’s because, in my opinion, it’s one of the most beautiful areas in the country. Either way, my wish was about to come to fruition and I was getting there in style — the Coast Starlight.
Since being in grad school, on top of working full time — the thought of having free time is laughable. Most of my days are spent wishing I could have fun experiences, but when I do have a moment of freedom, I never end up doing anything.
When I was a kid my mom would tell me ghost stories. It was a struggle for her to entertain me at times, but one thing that had always been consistent about me is my love for the macabre and things that give me the heebie jeebies.
My friend Gillian and I met at our job last year. Like most of my long lasting friendships, we bonded over our mutual love for horror films and cemeteries. Two weeks ago, she invited me to go to a women’s meetup in a local graveyard she and I love to frequent.
Much like Lydia Deetz, I myself am strange and unusual. My entire life I was always a little (a lot) more morbid and creepy than the average Joe. In elementary school I had a best friend that matched my energy, but eventually he moved away. The two of us were so fascinated by horror and death, perhaps because it seemed to follow us. Maybe it was the passing of our elderly relatives, or the passing of our young classmate.
In January I broke up with my ex-partner of 8.5 years. I knew we weren’t meant to be together, but the thought of a life outside of the one I knew was horrifying. I was complacent in my own life. It was as though I was experiencing the bystander effect, standing idly by watching someone die. Metaphorically I suppose you could say I was.
![The Little Theatre That Could: The Colonial Theatre [Belfast, ME]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5b29ca244eddecf1c92c151f/1728767457353-1GPVGXVIIS6RK7HC8R6P/IMG_3102.jpg)
If you were a '90s baby like me, there’s a good chance that you were also traumatized by the spooky tales of Stephen King. During my childhood, I spent the entire school week counting down the days to the movie nights I had with my dad on a regular basis. He was a horror fanatic and naturally, bestowed his love of horror onto me – his very peculiar, spooky 7-year-old. My weekends were filled with an abundance of horror films, with Stephen King often being in rotation.