November 29, 1991

Friday. The dream I had last night was so weird… 

                                              I wrote out a long dream, but it’s not that interesting so I’ll spare you. The take home is that it was an anxiety dream of sorts, and perhaps one of my first instances of semi-lucid dreaming. The same scene kept happening over and over – an old lady trying to kill my mother and I – and I kept replaying it, each time more successful until finally I managed to get her to the police and escape. It was also one of the first times I dreamed in French. What’s more interesting than the dream itself was my penmanship as I was writing it down. My handwriting gets increasingly sloppy to the point where I had trouble reading it. It seems I felt it was very important to transcribe the dream, so I guess it had a big effect on me.

Friday, December 20, 1991

X-mas vacation began today. I have lots to say. That rhymes! (Taffy stuff, candy gram, crush development…)

                                        Oh god, here we go.

Did I ever talk about Taffy before? Well that’s Robert Taffendon my homeroom, History & EMR teacher. He is wonderful! First the candy gram story. It all began with me first comeing to the school. He always tells stories and he sometimes mentions his wife. Jane and I always pictured his wife as a blonde bombshell (I guess because he is a blonde babe). Every day at school we would see Mr. Taffendon with this other teacher (Mrs. Laventholl or something) so we were like, hmmm, he is always with that lady, she must be his mistress. Well one day in one of his stories he revealed that she was his wife. Jane and I thought this was hilarious (although we were disappointed). So every time Taffendon would pass by our table at lunch we would crack up. We dubbed him Taffy and her Missy, by the way. Before x-mas they were doing the candy gram thing. So we sent one to Taffy explaining why we always laugh at him. He thought it was hilarious and he loved it. Now I would like to think that I have this special, unique, student-teacher bond with him.

                                      Cringing. Nice of him to play along and pretend something so inane was funny though.

I really like Taffy. At first I had fantasies about him so I thought it was a crush. I guess it still is somewhat. I have the utmost admiration for that man. I always feel happy when I’m around him and I miss him already. I thought of going to school today just to see him but then decided not to get up early if I didn’t have to. He is going to Florida for x-mas (I think he’s Jewish). Jane is going too! I hope she gets some pictures of him so I can have some and put one in that thing I am making him for the end of the year. (a 1991-1992 memorabilia of Taffy.). Earlier in this diary I wrote that I wanted the perfect guy. Well, I have found what I think is the closest thing to it, but he can’t be my boyfriend because he is at least 24 years older than me, he is my teacher, he is married and has a child. It truly makes me sad to think I can never have him for my own. Maybe I do love him. I guess I’ll never know!

                                     Part of me thinks this is hilarious and part of me is crippled with embarrassment. I do distinctly remember Taffy but not what he looked like. I just googled him in an effort to remember but there are no pictures readily available. I did find him on ratemyteachers.com and found that he was still teaching at BHS up until a few years ago and kids still love him. He really was a great teacher, and I guess the novelty of such a thing fueled my infatuation. By then he was probably used to kids crushing on him and was completely unfazed. One of my clearest memories of him is a time I was the first one to come to class. I sat at my desk and he asked me how I was. I replied that I was fine. He said that I didn’t have to lie, that I didn’t have to say the expected pleasantly and could answer honestly if I wasn’t really fine. I guess he could tell that I was an unhappy kid. I don’t remember what I replied but that interaction always stuck with me. I really appreciated an authority figure giving me permission, if you will, to be authentic.

 

 

November 28, 1991

Thursday – Only a few more days until December and then almost a month until X-mas. I cannot wait! Even though we are going to Toronto this X-mas.

                               The most interesting thing about this entry is how neat my handwriting is. I don’t know what got into me. I guess I was trying something new. It certainly didn’t last. 

A lot has happened since I last wrote, so bear with me here. I got over J. Priestley a long time ago.

                              What a relief!

I liked Leonardo (I don’t know his last name) who plays Luke on Growing Pains. I don’t know… now it’s no one.

                              Lol. Remember when Leonardo DiCaprio was on Growing Pains? I’m glad my crush on him lasted only two weeks, and was well over by the time he became a bloated mess of a human manatee. 

I didn’t win that art contest. I saw the competition and I say the judges are on drugs. So the painting is in the basement.

                             I still can’t figure out which painting I submitted. No doubt it was garbage.

Jacques was here for a while. Now he’s in Edmonton, he’ll be back.

                            If that “he’ll be back” sounds ominous, it’s intentional. My sister and I were born in France and Jacques was our babysitter when we were babies. I was two when we moved back to Canada so I have no memories of him as a babysitter but several memories of him visiting us in Montreal. My siblings and I all passionately hated him, and I’m not entirely sure why. I mean, he was deeply annoying, but I can’t really pinpoint any particular behavior deserving of the extreme ire we felt towards him. He still creeps me out (though I haven’t seen him in decades) and I still don’t fully understand why. Sometimes I worry that he did something to us as babies that traumatized us and we can’t remember it but remember the feeling of fear.

I auditioned for the school play but I didn’t make it. The drama dude, Mr. Whittmore said I had a good delivery and that I made a strong impression on him but I didn’t even make it. Not even as a pictorial. I’m trying not to be depressed. My English teacher sent in a short story I wrote (Suspense, Don’t Bite Off More Than You Can Chew) to Fledglings (a collection of writings and stuff).

                          I remember that story. I was quite proud of it. The twist at the end is that the narrator is dead. Some kids in my class didn’t get it, but thankfully my teacher did. 

M&R is the best. We did hot seat, it was amazing. I was second to go. It’s weird because the person who went first said the number (for the next person) and she said 13. I knew right away it would be me, and it was. I loved it! My Art teacher gave me a pamphlet for the Canada Day poster challenge… I lost my agenda. It had such cool decorations. SIGH. Bye.

                          I remember that poster contest. My submission was garbage but I was still rather disappointed, perhaps even surprised, when I lost. In spite of my low self-esteem I was remarkably arrogant about my artistic abilities at that age. Thankfully that overconfidence fizzled away by the time I got to University and met people with actual talent. I also discovered that artists were insufferably pretentious prats (maybe I saw something in them I didn’t like in myself) and chose to go in a different direction. I guess this blog is evidence that I am returning to the ways of insufferable navel-gazing, but now I have a more realistic perception of my own art. Progress!

Are nerds born or made?

Are nerds born or made? I guess the larger question is: Is anyone/thing born or made? But at the moment I’m wondering how the classic debate of nature vs. nurture applies to people who enjoy fringe interests. Nowadays, the definition of a fringe interest is getting more specific and things that were considered geeky in my childhood have since become fairly conventional. Back in the day, reading or watching fantasy stories was dorky but now Game of Thrones is a completely mainstream TV show. Same with science-fiction. I definitely felt like I was on the outside of what was “normal” back in the 80s and 90s for my devotion to Star Trek, but today it’s not really that big of a deal. There are plenty of sci-fi properties that have achieved mainstream success, such as Westworld. Some might argue that these once off-the-beaten-path interests have been sanitized for the masses and aren’t really what they once were. The reboot of Star Trek is really just a bunch of action movies, while the source material was much more cerebral but I digress.

I want to know if I became obsessed with sci-fi (and Star Trek more specifically), because I was an introverted, shy, awkward kid, or am I a bit of a weirdo because I took to Trek? Do the unathletic kids start playing Dungeons & Dragons because they get picked last for dodgeball or do they stay indoors and thus avoid exercise because they are so into role-playing games? Perhaps a bit of both.

I was a somewhat sickly child, and I’m naturally clumsy so I always preferred indoor activities… wait, no, this isn’t true. Now that I’m really thinking about it, I did a lot of playing outside when I was young. I always disliked disgusting things, like climbing trees, or difficult things, like climbing trees but I did plenty of swimming and bike riding and running around and building snow forts, like any regular kid. I also did a lot of drawing and playing other indoor games, but it’s only when I became a teenager and started to retreat from the world that my activities became predominantly sedentary.

And yet my interest in sci-fi and fantasy came about way before that. Star Trek: The Next Generation premiered in 1987 when I was eleven years old and I was instantly hooked. But I was already very fond of my Princess Leia action figures and was wild about movies like the Dark Crystal. Then again, what kid didn’t like The Dark Crystal and Star Wars? Now that I think about it, Star Trek debuted at pretty much the same time my best friend moved away. I had a couple of other friends but none I felt a strong connection with. As an introvert with social anxiety, it’s always been very difficult for me to interact with others. When the friend I’d known since we were toddlers left, this might have pushed me further into my own world. TNG came along at the exact right time to fill the void left by my friend. Would I have become equally enamored of Data and Deanna if my best friend hadn’t disappeared?

I’d like to think so. After all, my friend didn’t completely disappear. Though she’d changed schools, I could still see her on weekends, as she’d only moved to the next suburb over. So surely I was born a little on the geeky side and her presence in my life was irrelevant. And yet… I’m trying to remember what appealed to me as a child, and how much of it was innate, and how much was influenced by external factors, such as my mother. I remember once in kindergarten, my teacher making some sort of comment about the way I dressed. I didn’t understand the comment and asked my mother about it when I got home. She explained that my teacher was teasing me for always wearing very elaborate, girly dresses. I remained confused because I wasn’t dressing myself, my mother was dressing me, so surely it was invalid to mock me for these sartorial choices. I liked those dresses just fine, but I wasn’t choosing them. But what would I have worn if I could have chosen for myself? The same things perhaps. Maybe I’m wrong to blame those dresses on my mother. My wardrobe has changed much over the years, and I was quite dedicated to grunge in the ’90s, but today my closet looks like the Zooey Deschanel starter pack.

soul-of-wednesday-addams

But is my interest in pretty dresses authentic, or a result of my mother’s programming? I don’t know. What’s more certain is that she influenced my literary tastes. As a kid I read things like Anne of Green Gables, Little House on the Prairie, and Judy Blume’s oeuvre because those books were in the house. I never read fantasy or sci-fi as a kid, and still don’t, even though that’s my go-to when it comes to television. Is this because I associate books with my mother the librarian and therefore veer towards more classic choices, while I associate TV with no one other than myself, thereby making those choices more authentically?

not-nerdy-enough

I can’t be sure. I can’t even be sure that I really am a “nerd”. There is a meme currently going around that perfectly encapsulates this issue. People who aren’t geeky think of me as a geek. I distinctly remember a coworker once lamenting her own lackluster geekiness and wishing she could be as truly nerdy as me. I was struck by how odd that was as a comment, not only because it seemed strange to admire someone else’s inability to be normal, but also because I’m not really that nerdy. The truly hardcore nerds would likely deem me a poser. Really, other than watching shows set in alternate universes, what do I do that is truly unusual? In this day and age of the unconventional becoming conventional, do I even have the right to think of myself as out of the mainstream? Of course, no one should have to prove how “nerdy” they are. And it shouldn’t be a contest. Who cares how much someone likes a particular thing? It’s as though the hardcore nerds have absorbed mainstream society’s programming about how they are losers, and therefore, in order to win at something, anything, they shame others who aren’t as hardcore as them. If they can’t win at football, they’ll win at nerdiness.

I guess I suffer from this programming as well. I often criticize people or fiction for being pretentious and too try-hard but aren’t I myself, a try-hard when it comes to being “different”? Much of my self-identity, and self-worth, is built on the idea that I am not mainstream, that I am not plugged-in to social norms. That I am not that most dreaded of traits: Basic! But aren’t I? I do plenty of things that conform to modern society’s standards; I have a 9 to 5 job, I pay my taxes, I own property, I watch reality television, I shave my legs, I am in a stable, heterosexual, cisgendered relationship. And yet I don’t have kids and I’m not married. I tell myself I reject marriage because it is an institution built on the enslavement of women. But do I truly object to it this strongly, or am I just overcompensating to seem cool, if not to others, at least to myself?

I am forced to ask, what truly makes me different? And of those differences, which ones are charming quirks and which ones actually cause strife in my life? This is a topic worthy of further discussion, and I shall muse more at a future date. In the meantime, what do you think about my initial question, before I spiraled into my patented navel-gazing? Are nerds born or made?