Last night, my wife and I finished watching Schitt’s Creek. It took us about three weeks, maybe a little longer, only because we started to ration out the final eight episodes like a couple of people who were acting like these would be the last episodes of television they would ever watch and wanted to enjoy every last second of them. While the stalling made the impending ending a little a bit more daunting to face, like driving on a road and knowing it’s going to just end in a hundred ninety-two minutes, we wouldn’t change anything about it. Our stay in Schitt’s Creek was magical. So, I’ve decided to come here fresh out of tears to spill and bursting at the seams like one of Alexis’s trash bags filled with clothes for Twyla with the intention of writing a column about the show.

The thing is, I don’t even know where to start. I’m currently feeling a bit overwhelmed with the emotions concerning Schitt’s Creek and I kind of just want to pull a Moria and lock myself in a closet and process them. Doing that doesn’t really make for great reading material though. There is no metaphorical writing closet I can lock myself in and share with you guys. Also, I call Metaphorical Writing Closet as my new band name.

As someone who immensely enjoys writing about the things he’s passionate about, it’s always difficult when I want to write but can’t find the words. Yet, sometimes that’s a testament of the topic at hand. I think being left speechless by a story, group of characters, a small town, can often speak volumes. And in that regard, Schitt’s Creek has left me without words for the proverbial paper.

A part of me wishes that we had started the series sooner. I picture the Mrs. and I heading upstate to visit the Rose Apothecary pop-up store; her in a big hat or outlandish wig and me trying my best to cosplay as David Rose. I wish we had could have been a part of the conventions and celebrated as the show cleaned up at this year’s Emmys. But sometimes you find a story at the exact right moment in life. Cause right now, life is currently throwing a lot at the two of us, between work and life stuff, and spending this time with the Rose family and the towns folk of Schitt’s Creek was the life-affirming hug we both needed.

There will be a time where I circle back here to talk more about the show. Perhaps take a deep dive in how the Rose family transitioned from rich snobs to actual human beings or how Schitt’s Creek thrives because it believes in acceptance first, but right now I just want to relish in the emotions, reflect on our stay, and dry my eyes a little more. The tears have been flowing pretty steadily and it’s been worth every ugly cry face.

For now, I’m going to think of all the “ews” that were uttered, I’m certainly going to fold in the cheese while I wonder how I’ll ever pronounce the word “baby” correctly ever again, and listen to Tina Turner on repeat as the Mrs. and I get ready to make our first of many many many re-visits to this wonderful, glorious, Schitty town.