tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324223218807069682024-03-13T10:53:01.504-06:00Little Miss Fix ItAubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-40444989024997080892021-06-05T17:40:00.013-06:002021-06-05T18:01:43.575-06:00A chose-your-own-aceventure story<p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">How would you tell your boyfriend you’re not interested in kissing him?</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1819d87b-7fff-bf8f-d657-884d38874d33"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scenario 1:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He texts you at 9:30 AM on New Year’s Eve with an invitation to a friend’s party. You’ll have to drive to Salt Lake, but he can be there at 8 to pick you up. Do you:</span></p><br /><ol style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Text him back: “I know what tonight is about, and I can’t explain it, but I’d rather hold my hand on this stove burner than put my mouth on your mouth, so thanks, but no thanks”?</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Spend an hour convincing yourself you’re just nervous because you’ve never kissed anybody before, but he’s so nice, and he’s been so patient, and you might like it, so even though you’ve practically chewed a hole through your bottom lip thinking about it, you reply, “Sure”?</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Curl up into a ball in your closet, <a href="https://www.themusicallyrics.com/e/46-edges-a-song-cycle-musical-lyrics/114-lying-there-lyrics.html" target="_blank">the lyrics of Pasek and Paul’s “Lying There”</a> running through your head ad nauseum for no real reason, until you’re pretty sure everybody is dead and it’s safe to crawl out and start your life of solitude?</span></p></li></ol><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You choose B.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scenario 2:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s now 6:30 PM. You’ve written and deleted about 15 texts explaining why you don’t want to go to the party. With fingernails clawing at the inside of your skull, you finally text him: “Hey, I’m not really up to a party tonight. Wanna have dinner at my place instead?" </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your boyfriend, ever the supportive, kind, thoughtful human he is, says that’s no problem. He offers to bring cake, and you head out to get ingredients for dinner. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While at the store, do you:</span></p><br /><ol style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Buy enough letter candles to spell out “Please don’t kiss me, but I still think you’re great!”, hoping the cake is big enough to accommodate the message and that you can distract your boyfriend long enough to get it assembled?</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Go to the in-store bank branch and withdraw all of your cash, leave your car in the parking lot, get on the bus, see how far your $350 will take you, dye your hair, change your name, and steer clear of nice bearded men for the rest of forever?</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Buy stuff to make fajitas, like a normal fucking person?</span></p></li></ol><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You eventually choose C.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scenario 3:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You and your boyfriend dance around each other in the yellow light of your kitchen, chopping onions and sauteing peppers while your roommate looks for recordings of the Times Square ball drop. You watch the minutes slip past, your panic curling in the air like steam from your simmering chest. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">11:59</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your roommate starts the video, and half of New York is screaming in your living room.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">5</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your boyfriend places his hand gently in the small of your back. You keep your body pointed squarely at the TV.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">4</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your stomach drops as he turns his head.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">3</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He leans in.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He whispers, “Can we step outside?” Do you:</span></p><br /><ol style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Break down in tears, tell him that you made a mistake in asking him to date you, that you can’t be what he wants you to be, slap him for no reason, throw wine in his face, smash a bottle over his head, knee him in the groin, slap him again, and run away forever?</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">JUST KISS HIM ALREADY IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!?!?!</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Say, “Okay,” and hold your breath as you follow him to the landing outside?</span></p></li></ol><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You choose C.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scenario 4:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fireworks flash overhead, illuminating the neighbors drinking and banging pots in the parking lot. Your boyfriend, the consummate gentleman, takes your hand and asks if he can kiss you. A dozen instances of his kindness, his sense of humor, and his compassion flash through your mind, illuminating all the reasons you should want this. You hesitate, and he squeezes your hand, a gentle encouragement. Do you:</span></p><br /><ol style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Give in to the romance of the moment, grab his face, and plant one on him?</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Spontaneously combust?</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; list-style-type: upper-alpha; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stand motionless, swallowing hard against the inexplicable fear until you finally manage to say, “No”, and you see the confused disappointment on his face as he turns to leave, and you stay there, breathing in the sulfur air?</span></p></li></ol><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You choose B. The whole complex goes up in smoke, and everybody dies. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just kidding, you choose C. You really should see someone about these avoidance issues.</span></p></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-47625142664054192192017-09-22T00:02:00.002-06:002017-09-22T00:03:44.404-06:00UnravelledGrandma set a Corelle Butterfly Gold plate in front of me. She gave me a wan smile, and I stared at a pile of half-frozen chicken nuggets and peas. We ate in silence under the florescent kitchen lights.<br />
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We walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store, Grandma offering me a whole head of iceberg lettuce, a jug of milk, a bag of Madeleines.<br />
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Dozens of times over the nine months I lived with her, my grandmother showed me truly unconditional love. She'd recently been placed under 24-hour care for her Alzheimer's, but even when she didn't know who I was, she was kind and selfless. In a time when I found it hard to feel anything but crushing despair, she always made me feel at home.<br />
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Today is weird. It feels odd to write a eulogy for someone who hasn't died yet, and it's surreal to know for certain that someone is dying in the next few hours. More than anything, it's strange to feel relieved about it.<br />
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I don't know my grandmother very well. I interviewed her for a paper when I was a teenager, but we never really had a long conversation with her. All I know is what I saw: time spent baking bread with her grandchildren, an incredible quiet faith, letting family stay in her home, a love for service, and an uncanny ability to make you feel like you were home.Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-75595130850447015102014-10-14T14:07:00.001-06:002014-10-14T14:07:03.367-06:00Autumn Word Doodle<span style="font-family: inherit;">breathing in the brittle air</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and spicy sense of loss</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">that comes with a sudden fall,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I flex my fingers against the cold.</span>Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-69095836680199364802014-06-27T19:57:00.000-06:002014-06-27T19:57:06.756-06:00Scream and Be Free<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-42887193570093739682014-06-25T19:48:00.000-06:002014-06-25T19:58:12.129-06:00Young Adulthood Rite of Passage 1: Get dumped --- Check<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jared and I had a nice, long conversation the other week. We sat in his car in a parking lot, and while the air conditioning whirred away, he told me that he wanted to take a break from the Church. He said he wasn't sure how he felt about God, wasn't sure whether he believed in the things he had borne testimony of for so many years. I told him that I understood, that it sucks to be so uncomfortable when you’re just trying to figure out your relationship with God and be okay with yourself. I told him that I’d be there for him, that I liked him and was willing to wait while he tried to get through this, but that the Church is the most important thing to me and a temple marriage is of absolute, utmost importance. He said he was going to do what he could, and in the meantime, he would really like me to stick around. </span></span>I said I would. After all, I liked him, and he had managed to survive my breakdown and hospitalization in January. I wanted to repay that one not-so-small favor if I could.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had boot camp that night, which was a great opportunity for me to mull things over without interruption or well-meaning roommates asking me how I was and why I was being so quiet. While I was doing a million walking lunges and American kettle bell swings, I came to two conclusions:</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1. I was relieved that he hadn’t asked me to marry him. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm not marriage-crazed! There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this! </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had had an experience one Sunday when I was really struggling with opening up to him. I wanted to be able to give more of myself to the relationship, since he had held my hand through a suicidal episode and had done so many wonderful things for me. So I prayed about it. And while he sat next to me and scribbled notes on his legal pad, I thought very clearly, “You will marry him.” ...Welp, there’s nothing like a Divine mandate to help you get over your insecurities. So while our relationship progressed, that thought was always at the back of my mind. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When he said he wanted to talk about something personal (using the same wording he had when he wanted to tell me he liked me, I might add!), I thought either he wanted to talk about marriage, or</span>…<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> I don't know what else. I was a nervous wreck all day. I’m not ready to get married. I mean, I’ve thought about it (hundreds of times) and I’d even told Niccole I was probably going to marry Jared, but I thought (hoped) that it would be a long way off. But as hard as I tried to shake it, at the back of my mind was that thought: “You will marry him.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As soon as I got home from work that day, I went straight to my bedroom and prayed. I told Heavenly Father that I was scared to death, but that I wanted to be obedient. I told him I didn’t think I was ready to get married, but that I couldn’t deny the prompting I’d had, and I asked Him to give me the courage to do whatever I needed to do.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My nervousness only increased when the doorbell rang and when I climbed into Jared’s car. When he said, “I’ve gone over this conversation in my head a thousand times,” I thought I might explode. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After the initial shock of our conversation wore off, I knew that God had answered my prayers and had Abraham-and-Isaaced a marriage proposal to a much later date, and so I was relieved.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. I was excited about this turn our relationship had taken. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was (and am) terrified of getting married to somebody without knowing that we can weather life’s storms. Here I was in the middle of a real humdinger that would require </span></span>trust, <span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">excellent communication skills, heaps of faith, and manymany prayers, but which would result in a strong, time-tested relationship that had been proven in the face of adversity. To somebody who is slow to love and to let people in, this was, in its own twisted way, a godsend. I don’t mean to trivialize Jared’s pain. I didn’t want to be insensitive or uncaring, but I was glad that this had come up while our relationship was in its infancy because it meant we could grow and mature together. To me, that sounded great. So while I was a little unsure the next couple of days, I came to embrace this new challenge. It would be good for both of us.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two weeks went by. The first day or two were awkward, but we soon got into the swing of things. We had a couple of great dates. I held his hand and sobbed through <i>How to Train Your Dragon 2</i>, which was the closest he’d come to seeing me do the ugly cry. And this morning, as I was driving to work, I was thinking about that episode in season 3 of <i>Sherlock</i> when [SPOILER] finds out about [SPOILER]’s being a spy. He is understandably upset, but ultimately decides that the person she is is the person he loves, and it doesn’t really matter who she was before. I had found myself in a similar situation--one of the things I liked most about Jared was his devotion to the Lord. Turns out I was wrong; I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did, or as well as he led me to believe (of course, a lack of faith doesn’t really equate to having killed dozens of people, but you get my point). But when you like someone, when you’re invested in them, their future, your future together, it’s a lot easier to forgive the past in favor of the present. Your learning a secret doesn’t change the other person, it just gives you a new perspective. That's not so bad.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I asked Jared if he wanted to go on a hike today. I’m running a race on Saturday and I wanted to get outside and do something active, but I wanted to spend time with him. I know that quality time is important to him, and I knew if I didn’t plan something, we’d just end up watching a movie or something. By the time I got home and found suitable trails for these two novices, it was 7 p.m. and too late to start a real hike. I asked if he wanted to go on a walk instead. He said yes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I showed up at his house, it took him a long time to answer my knock on the door. He was still and a little sullen, which is his thinking stance (shoulders slumped, sideways looks instead of direct eye contact, voice lower than normal). I knew that Father’s Day had been hard for him and that he’d been feeling anxious, so I didn’t think much of it. But when I asked him how he was, he said he’d been thinking some more and talking to his mom and that he wanted to talk to me about a couple of things. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We took a quick turn around the block, and he told me that he had given it a couple of weeks and this time he was really serious, and that since the Church was the most important thing to me, maybe we should break up. I asked some follow-up questions, and his answers weren’t really satisfactory, but nothing about this was really satisfactory. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Except that it made one thing perfectly clear: I know who I am and what I stand for, and that's a big deal. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was always happy with my religion, but now I know I </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">will choose the Church over </span><i style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">anything</i><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;"> else, </span><i style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">every</i><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><wbr style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;"></wbr><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">time. This time last year, a breakup would have destroyed me*. I would have lost all sense of self-worth, would have wallowed in self-pity, might have even lost myself in trying to save him. But here I stand, feeling capable, strong, and committed to things that are important. Here I stand with enough courage to admit that <i>I am</i>. I have a presence. I have a voice. I have convictions. This is the first time in my life I can really say that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />I like Jared. I'm sad things didn't work out. I hope I didn't do anything in all of this to make him curse my name and the day I was born. But y'know, if this is what it took for me to see myself as a real-life, grown-up woman who can look herself square in the eye and declare that she has the right to define herself with her words and with her actions, and who knows that she is worth. so. much., then I can't say I regret it. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Recorded 6/19/14</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span>I want to be perfectly clear: I harbor no ill feelings toward Jared. He has been a gentleman throughout this whole thing, as he was throughout our relationship. He even gave me back my Animorphs books right away! At least on my end, I feel like we parted ways amiably.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*Even one given 5 Stars on the Ann Garwys Handle-Things-Like-an-Adult Rating Scale, like this one</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">****************************BONUS MATERIAL</span>*****************************</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I recently read Daniel Handler’s <i>Why We Broke Up</i>. I’m still not sure how I feel about the book, but I like the style and it was quite the exercise coming up with my own reasons. Here's what I ended up with:</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You’re a good actor, which means (or I thought it meant) you’re good at reading people and you have a deep understanding of what it means to be human, and that’s why we got together. You’re sweet and funny (sometimes) and you bought me a magnifying glass for GISHWHES even though you hardly knew me, and that’s why we got together. You don’t care about my size, you’re complimentary, you make me think deep thoughts, you put stories in my head, and that’s why we got together. You saw me in the hospital, hair sticking out to here for lack of conditioner, makeup-free, slightly dazed, and totally crazy, and still you wanted to hold my hand, and that’s why we stayed together.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You never told me how you felt about the most important subject of all, and that’s why we broke up. You were disappointed when I didn’t kiss you on New Year’s Eve, and that’s why we broke up. I told you my secrets, things I’ve never told anyone, not even my therapist, and all you could muster was a list of things we hadn’t got around to talking about yet, and that’s why we broke up. You never asked me to kiss you again, and that’s why we broke up. I was totally honest with you. I faced my fears and climbed way out on a limb and tried so hard to love you, and while you claimed you were being honest, you never told me you didn’t believe in God. I always told you how I felt, you knew exactly who I was, and even when we talked about us and how we were doing, you never told me you never thought it could work. And that’s why we broke up.</span></span></div>
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Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-91902412941911706432014-06-24T20:41:00.000-06:002014-06-25T15:23:43.584-06:00<div style="color: #010000; font-size: 18px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">A Slight Exaggeration of an Otherwise </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">TRUE STORY</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Faithfully laid down by Ellie Adgwick</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">Some Exposition</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #010000; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Late spring in northern Utah County is magical. The mornings are bright and peaceful, cotton-tuft snowstorms drift in the afternoon breezes, and the sunsets paint the valley pink, orange, and gold. O</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">n one especially glorious June evening, the sky was so clear it made the mountains look like cardboard cutouts and the air was rich with the promise of summer. It seemed like half the neighborhood was outside, making the most of the comfortable weather. I propped the back door open to let in that breath of perfection while I puttered around the kitchen making dinner. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The front door swished open in the other room and the tail end of a friendly conversation drifted through the hall. Soft laughter, a quick goodbye, and the click of the lock when the door closed again. I held my breath and concentrated intently on a small pot of water as footsteps approached. Aunt Frances sidled around the corner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hey Ellie, whatcha making?” Her voice was tight and she bounced the words up and down in a condescending sing-song. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh, just some soup.” I shot her a smile then turned back to the stove. Maybe if I didn’t engage in the conversation, she’d just leave a note on my bed or send me a passive-aggressive email or, better yet, forget whatever it was she was about to reprimand me for.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What didja do today?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">No dice.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">“Well, I went to work, then I took a nap, then I cleaned my room, and now I’m making dinner.” Okay, so the nap had consisted of watching half a cycle of </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">Project Runway</i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"> and reading through all my old blog posts, and unless you count moving a pile of laundry from the bed to the floor as cleaning, I hadn’t really cleaned my room. But when Frances is angry, the only thing that seems to placate her is house work; I thought nap-taking and room-cleaning might give me a leg up in the impending argument.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her green eyes glinted in the light pouring in through the kitchen windows. A hint of danger crept into her smile. “That sure sounds like a productive day. Hey, I was just out talking to Mrs. Natham, and I couldn’t help but notice that the flower beds haven’t been tended in a while. . .”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh. . .”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, do you remember that you’re supposed to do the yard work?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I mowed the lawn last week.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yes I know, and thank you, but you need to weed the garden. I can’t do it. Part of our agreement is that you help out around the house.” Her smile disappeared as she folded her arms. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was true that I was in charge of maintaining the yard—Frances was giving me free rent in exchange for physical labor, and I knew I hadn’t been keeping my end of the bargain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The water in the pot started to boil. I fumbled with a package of Ramen and tried to explain why I hadn’t tended the garden yet. “I started to weed yesterday when I got home from work. . .”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“But. . . ?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“But I. . .didn’t finish.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Why not?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The package tore down one side and noodles flew everywhere. I clenched the mostly-empty wrapper in my fist and turned slowly to face my aunt. She raised her thin eyebrows expectantly. I studied the freckles on her forehead as I mumbled, “There are earwigs.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Excuse me?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“There are earwigs.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She stared at me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Somewhere outside a dog barked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The neighborhood basketball team shrieked and hollered friendly insults.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I fidgeted with a hole in my t-shirt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Get it done tomorrow after work.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I don’t work tomorrow,” I said, flicking noodles off the counter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Good. You can start first thing in the morning.” She left the room with a triumphant swagger and I wept softly over my Ramen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">The Very Next Day </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Frances, I don’t think you understand,” I said as she handed me a spade and a plastic bucket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Wear gloves if the bugs bother you so much.” She tossed a pair at me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s not bugs, it’s earwigs. And they don’t bother me, we’re mortal enemies! Nemeses, even!” My cries echoed faintly in the bleak garage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Stop being dramatic and pull some weeds.” She pointed a severe finger at the driveway. I stepped out onto the concrete and watched her feet disappear an inch at a time under the monstrous garage door. As soon as the coast was clear, I pulled out my phone and tweeted, “If you never hear from me again, the earwigs got me. #gross #mybiggestfear #wellitwasabeautifulday.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About a second later, my friend Morgan replied, “@SmellieEllie Go get those creepy bastards. Step on a few for me! #youcantakeem #seriouslythoughthatsgross.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I laughed in spite of myself. Morgan is the most adorable, bubbly, contagiously happy person I know, and when she swears, she giggles. The juxtaposition is always funny, even filtered through social media.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was about to respond when Aunt Frances opened the front door with startling ferocity. She didn’t say anything, but somehow I knew she was planning a slow and painful death for me. Saluting her with my phone, I took a few steps toward the office window, where I would be shielded from view.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I knelt in the grass in front of the rose bushes, though it felt much more like kneeling before the guillotine. My fingers trembled inside my thick canvas gloves, but I managed to wield a spade, which turned out to be ideal for carefully parting branches and vines before plunging my hands into the ground to pull up the weeds—this was my safeguard against accidentally touching anything that was alive and potentially evil. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">After twenty minutes of tremendously cautious gardening, I began to relax. The sun had crested Mount Timpanogos and its rays were slowly warming the brisk morning air, but more importantly, there had been no sign of earwigs. Maybe I had been overreacting. Maybe they wouldn’t be a problem during the day, and I did actually enjoy yard work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">I could handle this.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">I hummed a little ditty and set in on a stubborn milkweed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">Just When I Thought Things Would Be Fine</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The flowerbed was perfect, like something out of <i>Better Homes and Gardens</i>: sweet little rows of pansies and those flowery ground cover plants, a range of stately irises, carefully trimmed marigolds, artfully tamed bushes of hydrangea and wild roses, all in a bed of completely weed- and grass-free earth. I sat back on my heels to admire the garden, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand and tossing the last stray twig toward the overflowing bucket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">With a satisfied sigh, I began peeling the gloves off my sweaty hands. Then. As I reached for my phone to tweet about my success. A huge earwig raced out from under my left thumb and danced over my forearm. I shrieked, flailed, hurled my phone, leapt up, stomped in a frantic circle, and shrieked some more. When I regained some semblance of composure, I found the bug’s carcass schmeared on the curb, one leg waving a feeble farewell to this cruel, cruel world.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Eeeew.” I shuddered. The only thing worse than an earwig is a <i>schmearedwig</i>. (That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever written, but I stand by it—I have nightmares about schmearedwigs.) As I looked around for something I could scrape him off the curb with, a movement in the freshly overturned soil caught my eye: another earwig emerged and squirmed its way over to the first. It scuttled back and forth along the cracked screen of my phone, apparently distressed at the carnage. Finally, it paused at what used to be the dead earwig’s head. I could have sworn I heard a mournful chant as it waved its feelers over the body in a minuscule shaman ritual. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“At Smellie Ellie!” it cried, pointing at me with its foreleg. “I challenge thee!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bewildered and a little bit terrified, I took a step back. My foot went straight through a hole in the grass, and I fell, hands slapping the ground, earth crumbing beneath me. I tumbled down through the air, blinded by dirt, the wind in my ears like the rush of a thousand people calling my name. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">The next thing I knew</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was propped up against a boulder in a dark, rocky tunnel. I don’t know where I was, how I got there, or when I passed out. All I know is that when I woke up, I could hardly move. The right side of my body felt like it had been through a woodchipper, and from what I could see, it looked like it had. Biting back a moan, I rolled carefully onto my left side and used my good arm to drag myself to my feet. Thankfully, my right leg didn’t seem to be broken. It was scratched to hell and bruised pretty badly, but I could put my weight on it. Of course, that didn’t matter when I edged my way around the boulder. The tunnel opened up into a monstrous cavern, ten or fifteen stories tall, about as long as a football field, ringed with jagged coliseum tiers, every inch crawling with earwigs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My legs gave out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I sat there, clinging to the boulder, tears streaming down my face, fighting back a surge of hysteria, trying to ignore the dancing torchlight (wherever that was coming from) and the crisp whisper of a millionmillion legs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A curiously fat bug slithered out from the crowd and perched on my knee. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he was one of those underworld bugs from <i>Anastasia</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Silence!” he cried. His voice was not a high-pitched squeak like you would imagine, but deep and commanding. He held up three chubby legs and everything went still.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“At Smellie Ellie, you stand accused of the murder and defamation of the most honorable Emperor Bohdan. Through despicable and depraved acts of violence, you mutilated the emperor’s remains and slandered his good name and the name of all who proudly call themselves euborellia annulipes! What say you to this?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I couldn’t move. I stared at the Spokesbug, all thoughts of reason and common sense gone, and sobbed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“The accused does not deny her guilt! At Smellie Ellie! You are hereby challenged to a fight to the death by the slain earwig’s brother, the illustrious Lord Borys. By earwig law, he is permitted to call upon the aid of all his living relatives”—which, as you can imagine, was quite a few bugs. A mass of earwigs on the wall ahead of me reared up and picked up the chant Borys had used over his brother’s body. Spokesbug didn’t try to stop them. He raised his voice and continued in a counter-rhythm: “You are permitted to call upon the aid of any gods you worship and the mercy they see fit to send you.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The crowd went wild. Bugs teemed and writhed and yelled unintelligible insults, the combined sound of bodies and voices deafening. The still-chanting relatives of the emperor marched down off the wall and across the ground toward me. An endless stream of earwigs filled the empty space as soon as it appeared. The mini army halted in the center of the arena. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Borys, a thin and especially crispy-looking earwig, took a few steps forward. “Bohdan shall be avenged!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“At Smellie Ellie,” said Spokesbug, “let your death be a lesson to all humans who dare to usurp euborellia annulipine authority! Borys!”</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But Borys had already begun his charge. By the time Spokesbug finished his speech, I was clawing my way up the boulder to escape Borys and company. They swarmed out of the ground, scurried up my legs, teemed over my chest, surged onto my head. I tried to scream, but I was suffocating on bugs, tried to run, but couldn’t tell where my limbs ended and the bugs began. Then I was falling again, off the boulder, into the pincers of countless murderous earwigs, into my worst nightmare. I landed with an almighty crash that shook the cavern walls, sent dirt and rocks and bugs raining down from the ceiling. But the ground didn’t stop shaking. It rumbled and shuddered, louder and faster, until the wall above me exploded. Bugs scattered in every direction and I could breathe again. Blinding light poured in through the hole in the wall. I shielded my head from falling rubble.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Ellie!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I bolted upright, my heart pounding in my ears. That sounded like. . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Ellie! Hop on, quick.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Morgan!” I struggled to my feet. She had driven a backhoe through the cavern wall and was currently wielding an industrial-sized jug of insecticide. Earwigs scurried away from her, over the lip of the tier, down into the entrance tunnel. She was about twenty feet above me. “How do I get up there? I only have one good arm.” </span></div>
<div style="font-size: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hang on.” She ran to the backhoe and pulled out a duffel bag. “Here!” She tossed me a can of insecticide. It hit me square in the right shoulder. I yelled and fell to my knees, almost getting swept away by a swarm of bugs as they headed for the tunnel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Sorry! Hang on, I have a rope in here somewhere.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I just couldn’t get my feet back under me. Waves of earwigs scrabbled over my arms and back, and the fresh pain in my shoulder was making it hard to breathe, much less stay upright. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Morgan,” I gasped. Then louder, “Morgan!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Here!” She held up the rope. “Hey! I’m going to make a seat for you. Hold on just a minute!” She looped the rope through the shoulder strap of the duffel bag and tied it off in a complicated knot. With an impressive war cry (“FOR NARNIA!”), she tossed the bag down to me. I caught it and wiggled into the makeshift seat, praying that the knot would hold.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Ready!” I said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Morgan scrambled into the driver’s seat and slammed the backhoe into gear. If it had been a car, the tires would have squealed and spewed smoke as it tore away into the sunset. Since it was a huge piece of construction machinery, it lumbered forward at an excruciatingly slow pace. I pressed against the wall with my feet like a rock climber repelling down a mountain and walked toward the tier. Not exactly the world’s most climactic rescue, but it was a whole heck of a lot better than being eaten alive by Satan’s favorite insect. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About four feet from the landing, I yelled for Morgan to stop and come help me up. She must not have heard me because we kept crawling forward. I yelled again, still no response. I tried to find hand and footholds, but I couldn’t let go of the rope for fear of slipping out of the seat and plummeting to my death. So I was scraped along the jagged lip, new gashes tearing up my left side. This time, Morgan heard me yelling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m so sorry, Ellie!” she said as she helped my to my feet and slid the duffel bag over my head. “Are you okay?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I will be. Just get me out of here.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She helped me up into the backhoe and gave me another can of insecticide. “If you can figure out how to work the scooper, go for it. In the meantime, there’s this.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Thanks. How did you know to look for me?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Your tweet,” Morgan said, swerving to crush a patch of bugs that were scurrying for cover. “You said if you didn’t come back, the earwigs got you. When you didn’t respond to any of my texts and your aunt was ranting about how you’d torn a hole in the lawn and taken off, I figured they really had you. So I rented a backhoe and here we are.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Where’s Zack? I thought he never missed an opportunity to play the knight in shining armor.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She smiled at the mention of her husband. “He couldn’t get work off, but I promised I’d smash a bug in his name. FOR ZACHARY!” And she accelerated toward another patch of bugs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That’s when I lost it. Despite the fact that I was covered in blood, dirt, and bug guts, probably had a broken arm, and would definitely need to hire me a good therapist, I roared with laughter. Insane, maniacal, uncontrollable laughter. I laughed all the way up the winding entrance Morgan had dug. I laughed when I saw the look on Frances’s face. I laughed when I saw my reflection in the mirror, looking like someone who’d survived two years in the jungle with only a sharp stick and a book of matches. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">I only stopped laughing when, at about the two-hour mark of my post-ordeal shower, an earwig carcass fell out of my hair and landed with a soft thunk on the floor. I didn’t have to get a closer look to recognize Borys. I nudged him with my toe. He half rolled onto his side in a noncommittal, “I’m dead” sort of way. I looked around for something I could pick him up off the floor with, then changed my mind and lifted my foot above his head.</span></div>
Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-87773639148879869242014-06-02T22:18:00.000-06:002014-06-02T22:19:27.642-06:00A Little Ditty about Little-Known FactsA Photographic Essay... Sort of.<br />
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Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-26846736657297815172014-03-04T23:52:00.000-07:002014-07-23T13:41:52.459-06:00Inspiration<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took a creative writing class from the fantastic Derek Henderson a few years ago. I knew I was going to like the class when on the first day Derek told us about the word <i>inspire. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"<span class="gp ty_label tg_etym" style="font-size: 14px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">ORIGIN</span> </span><span class="dg" style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">Middle English</span><span class="italic" style="font-style: italic; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"> enspire</span><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">, from </span><span class="la" style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">Old French</span><span class="ff" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"> inspirer</span><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">, from </span><span class="la" style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">Latin </span><span class="ff" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">inspirare </span><span class="trans" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><span class="gp tg_tr">‘</span>breathe or blow into<span class="gp tg_tr">,</span><span class="gp tg_tr">’</span></span><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"> from </span><span class="ff" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">in- </span><span class="trans" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><span class="gp tg_tr">‘</span>into<span class="gp tg_tr">’</span></span><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"> + </span><span class="ff" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">spirare </span><span class="trans" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><span class="gp tg_tr">‘</span>breathe<span class="gp tg_tr">.</span><span class="gp tg_tr">’</span></span><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"> "</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">To breathe. More specifically, he said, to breathe life into our art. What was our inspiration? What made us breathe? What filled us up and made us dizzy with creative potential, drove us to create because what else is there to do with all this air?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">The question was actually part of our final. We had to make a list of our top five favorite things ever. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">This is mine:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">1. Oreos, especially the Double Stuf and the Double Triple</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">2. Men in well-tailored three-piece suits</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">3. Car rides with the windows down and the music up too loud</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">4. When I can smell another city like London or New York on the air for just a moment, and then it's gone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">5. Spectacular sunsets</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
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</span><br />
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I keep coming back to this list. Three years and I keep coming back to it. It's been hard lately to move forward. I've felt anxious and unnecessary and so very, very small, and it has been torture trying to work up the courage to take a step in <i>any</i> direction. But in these five things I have a mainstay--not a propeller, not a drive to make any sort of decision, just a place where I know who I am and the things I live for. When I can't move forward, at least I can stand and I can breathe.</span></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And for now, that's enough.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, what's your list? What inspires you?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: Baskerville;"><br /></span></span>Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-21471779754431900062013-12-11T19:06:00.001-07:002013-12-11T19:06:19.937-07:00Sweet, Sweet Victory<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C-rR51thd14/UqkW-DRuhcI/AAAAAAAAAdY/OjNCmZ8fa_0/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C-rR51thd14/UqkW-DRuhcI/AAAAAAAAAdY/OjNCmZ8fa_0/s320/photo-2.JPG" width="320" /></a>Yesterday I had a very encouraging conversation with my therapist about how it isn't just me, UVU is a terrible school and a lot of people have a really hard time with the teachers and the administrative process. She told me to be kind to myself and enjoy the time that I have there, because even though my teachers drive me crazy, there is always something to learn and there is certainly always something to enjoy. So I went home and made myself a little victory cake because, hey, I have accomplished a lot these last 14 weeks and that deserves some kind of acknowledgement.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Things I am celebrating:<br />
<br />
It's the end of the semester and I'm alive<br />
I have written, start to finish, an entire short story (to make its blog debut soon!)<br />
I actually kind of like the story that I wrote<br />
I've been in a relationship for almost two months and I haven't screwed it up yet (I'll elaborate in another post)<br />
I've created quite a few awesome posters and other documents<br />
I've learned a lot about InDesign and its capabilities--I feel like I know what I'm doing<br />
I stood up for myself<br />
I adapted a short story into a children's book<br />
I'm pretty good at editing<br />
I operated a follow spot with virtually no training and only two rehearsals to get it down<br />
I made a freakin' awesome Halloween costume for under $20<br />
It's the end of the semester AND I'M ALIVE<br />
<br />
<br />
And about 4,000 other things.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Victory</i></div>
Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-51413801156737359262013-12-06T17:36:00.002-07:002013-12-06T17:36:39.388-07:00The Deep End, the Deep End<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/sUdoDhLZ9-Q?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
I'm pretty sure I've said it before, but this song is what it's like to live with an anxiety disorder. At least, for me it is. When I was living at my grandma's house a few years ago, I was in a pretty bad place. And one day I was listening to this song while driving to school or something and eating an entire box of Junior Mints, and I remember thinking, "Yes. They get it. This is what it's like." And I put it on repeat and belted it (an octave higher) at the top of my lungs every time I was in the car for the next week.<br />
<br />
Every once in a while I'll binge on this song again. I have a lot of friends who get it, who live with this every day like I do, but there's something about being able to rock out and belt a song that's way too high and expend all of that nervous energy while knowing that somebody else gets it that's just so therapeutic. Because it's hard to feel trapped everywhere you go and never seem to make any progress, but as long as there's good music in the world and people who understand, it can't be all bad.<br />
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So, here. Add this song to your "I'M FREAKIN' OUT" playlist (I know you have one) and remember while you're rockin' out that it really isn't all bad.Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-45299700156041798132013-10-13T00:57:00.000-06:002014-06-25T16:06:05.625-06:00Mantra"I just want to get out of here as soon as possible."<br />
<br />
"Well, we'll have to see what we can do."<br />
<br />
"I've been here for seven years--I don't know how much longer I can stand it." I was sitting in my advisor's office at school. He was munching on little red bell peppers and I was fighting back hysteria.<br />
<br />
"Let's take a look at your transcript," he said.<br />
<br />
For half an hour we chatted about classes and internships and grad school applications while he created a master schedule for me.<br />
<br />
"So, it's a tall order but if you don't mind crazy work loads, it looks like you can be done in Spring 2015." [Sam (that's my advisor's name) does this thing where he kind of shrugs with his whole body--his shoulders come up, his arms flop over, his head tilts sideways, and his eyes get really wide, all at once. Usually when he's saying "so."] He full-body shrugged throughout this pronouncement.<br />
<br />
"You know, I think I can handle a full schedule in the summer. Could that help? Could I do it by Fall 2014?"<br />
<br />
"Well--"shrug"--It's possible, but I don't recommend it." Shrug. "Some people do it, but since it's a block schedule, it's a lot of work in a short space of time." Shrug.<br />
<br />
I sighed. "I've been here for so long. I just want to move on with my life."<br />
<br />
"I know. But if you think about it, figuring out what you want to do with your life is kind of a big deal. Your education is kind of a big deal. And in the grand scheme of things, seven, eight, nine years is not a lot of time when you're going to be working for the next forty, fifty years of your life. No two people are the same, and the educational process is different for everybody. I say it takes as long as it takes. If you finish in four years, great. If you finish in ten years, great; you've learned a lot. It takes as long as it takes, and you shouldn't worry about it."<br />
<br />
It takes as long as it takes...<br />
<br />
<br />
I thanked him, wrapped up the meeting, and wandered down the hall to a bank of unoccupied chairs. Normally, such a statement would have driven me crazy.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It takes as long as it takes?! Pah! I should be done by now! I should be long gone! I should be running wild through the Scottish lowlands, being all international and independent and free from the burden of the last ten years of my life! It takes as long as YOUR FACE!</span></blockquote>
<br />
But that day, those were the exact words I needed to hear.<br />
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It takes as long as it takes. I'll finish when I finish. I have my whole life ahead of me to worry about my life, about bills and jobs and seeing the world. I'm here now and that's that. This is my situation and I can live through it gracefully or I can squander my time feeling sorry for myself, pining after a future that isn't certain anyway. So, live gracefully it is.<br />
<br />
With this new philosophy fresh in my mind, the next few days were different--brighter, easier, more comfortable. And then I realized that I was falling in love with someone who had just fallen in love with my friend. And a fresh wave of lonely impatience rose up and razed my newfound confidence.<br />
<br />
Seriously? Again, Aubrey? You're really good at this. At this rate, you'll be 65 when you get married.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I can't recognize flirtatious behavior. Or maybe I have really bad timing. Or maybe I don't know myself very well. Whatever the problem is, three times in the recent past I've fallen in love and realized it too late. Three times I've decided to risk everything on a guy the second after he picked someone else. Three frickin' times I've been shy and emotional and slow on the uptake, and then when I finally think, yeah, maybe this is it, maybe it's my turn to belong to someone, to have comfortable conversations about mundane things, to hold hands, I turn around to face this possibility and he's holding someone else's hand, tracing patterns on her palm.<br />
<br />
<br />
Three times I've looked on and thought, if only I'd realized it sooner, I could have prevented this. But that's wrong. Prevented what? Prevented happiness? Prevented two wonderful people from developing a loving relationship? Prevented an eternal marriage, that thing so precious and sacred? In my selfishness and my cowardice, I would prevent all of that so that I wouldn't feel passed by, because I thought it was <i>my</i> happiness, <i>my</i> relationship, <i>my</i> late-night talks about the possibility of <i>us</i>.<br />
<br />
I completely missed the point. Three times I was so far off the mark that I couldn't see this invaluable truth: it takes as long as it takes. I'm still here, I'm still alive, I haven't died of a broken heart. In fact, I have a pretty good thing going (except that my new pants smell like mothballs and it's driving me CRAZY). Obviously it <i>isn't</i> my turn yet, and that's okay. Really, I'm okay with that. I know that I have so much to learn and so much to do and so much to give. If I can't graduate for another year and a half, that's fine. I'll survive. If I don't find a boyfriend in the next fifteen years, that's okay. I'll survive. I'll keep learning and doing and giving and receiving so much in return and trusting in my Heavenly Father and cultivating lasting relationships because that's what's really important.<br />
<br />
And everything else? Well, it takes as long as it takes.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~</div>
Recorded 9/14/13Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-5926878601434822962013-05-13T01:15:00.000-06:002013-12-11T19:08:46.458-07:00Mother's Day<div>
So, at the end of the movie version of <i>A Series of Unfortunate Events</i>, the Baudelaire orphans return to the ruins of their mansion for one last goodbye before they set off on another ill-fated adventure. While there, they receive a long-lost letter, which their parents had sent from Europe before they died: </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;">Dearest Children,</em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"> </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline: none 0px;" /></em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">Since we have been abroad we have missed you all so much. Certain events have compelled us to extend our travels. One day, when you’re older, you will learn all about the people we’ve befriended and the dangers we have faced. </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;" /></em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">At times the world can seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe us when we say there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may, in fact, be the first steps of a journey.</em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"> </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;" /></em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">We hope to have you back in our arms soon, darlings, but in case this letter arrives before our return, know that we love you. </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">It fills us with pride to know that no matter what happens in this life, you three will take care of each other with kindness and bravery and selflessness as you always have. And remember one thing, my darlings, and never forget it - that no matter where we are, know that as long as you have each other, you have your family and you are home.</em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; outline: none 0px;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;" /></em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; outline: none 0px;">Your loving parents. </em></blockquote>
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The letter is beautiful and sad and almost too perfect to be real. But one time, smack in the middle of my big breakdown, I was digging through my bucket of memories and I found a postcard my mom had sent me when I was a small child. There's no post mark, so I don't know exactly when she sent it, but I'm certain it means more to me now than it ever did when I was 6 or 7. </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">Hi there Princess Aubrey:</em> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"><br /></em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">How do you like this pretty picture? This is the temple where Daddy and I were married. Someday, you too will be married in a temple of the Lord. I miss you. I'm so glad that you are there to help Daddy. He could use your help. Thanks for being a good (and pretty) young lady. I'll see you very soon.</em> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"><br /></em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">Remember to tell Daddy where you are going at all times.</em> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">With love and kisses</em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;"><br /></em><em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;">Mommy</em></blockquote>
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It isn't quite as dramatic as the one from the movie, but my "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZNTWDUrWiI" target="_blank">letter that never came</a>" was as beautiful and sad and perfect to me as I imagine the one the Baudelaires received was to them. </div>
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I could write volumes about how I feel right now, but it's far too late at night, and I don't want whoever might read this to have to wade through that kind of word vomit. I'll compose my thoughts (and condense them) and post them sometime later.</div>
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Anyhoo.</div>
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Happy Mother's Day, Mom. </div>
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Skidamarkink a-dink a-dink, skidamarink a-do, I love you.</div>
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<center style="background-color: white; color: #070000; font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; line-height: 12px;">
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<span class="quotesymbols" style="font-size: 30px; opacity: 0.2;">❝</span> <span class="title" style="color: #030000; font-family: Arial; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: -1px; line-height: 23px; padding: 1px 1px 0px; text-transform: uppercase;">HER ABSENCE IS NO MORE EMPHATIC IN THOSE PLACES THAN ANYWHERE ELSE. IT’S NOT LOCAL AT ALL. I SUPPOSE IF ONE WERE FORBIDDEN ALL SALT ONE WOULDN’T NOTICE IT MUCH MORE IN ANY ONE FOOD THAN ANOTHER. EATING IN GENERAL WOULD BE DIFFERENT, EVERY DAY, AT EVERY MEAL. IT IS LIKE THAT. THE ACT OF LIVING IS DIFFERENT ALL THROUGH. HER ABSENCE IS LIKE THE SKY, SPREAD OVER EVERYTHING.</span> <span class="quotesymbols" style="font-size: 30px; opacity: 0.2;">❞</span> </center>
<center style="background-color: white; color: #070000; font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; line-height: 12px;">
A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis</center>
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Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-77847104106215673982013-05-10T23:45:00.000-06:002013-05-11T00:04:50.552-06:00Becoming MoreI'm moving.<br />
<br />
Not any time soon, mind you, but as it's graduation season and my friends are finishing school and moving on, I've been thinking about it a lot. I'm 80% certain I'll head off to the University of Edinburgh the minute I graduate from UVU. On study abroad 4 years ago, I fell in love with the city, the people, the purple-grey beaches, the lifestyle, the way the castle looks like it grew out of the mountain, and the U of E's MS Creative Writing program. I'm going to a grad school open house in November to make sure, but if I can have my way, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicknames_of_Edinburgh" target="_blank">Auld Reekie</a> it will be.<br />
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So in a couple of years, when all is said and done, I'll pack up everything I own, sort my belongings into the musttakewithmes and the putitinstorageuntilIsettledowns, and I'll set off across the ocean. <br />
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And I'll likely be alone.<br />
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The thought of spending a year entirely on my own, on a different continent, away from friends and family and familiar streets scares the crap out of me. It seems so lonely and frustrating and a little bit empty. But last night I was staring at my ring, the ring my mother gave me on her last Christmas, the ring I hope to someday wear on my left hand, and I saw, reflected in that hope, a potential for significance I had never realized. <br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sciLGh53zhc/UY3SifHapiI/AAAAAAAAAb0/qfP4UPwILWg/s1600/306530_10151957380550657_922600633_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sciLGh53zhc/UY3SifHapiI/AAAAAAAAAb0/qfP4UPwILWg/s640/306530_10151957380550657_922600633_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this picture with my left hand!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This ring has meant so much to me in the last 5 years. It is its own language of sentiment, rich with expressions of monumental loss and the good that can surface in its wake. And when it changes hands, when it is slipped gently from right to left by a man who means everything to me, this ring will become more. It will speak of two great significances, of before and after, of memories cherished and memories yet to be made, of a girl who sits writing in the park alone and a girl who sits writing in a park knowing there is someone to go home to.<br />
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And if a ring can take on new meaning, more power with such a simple shift, what can a Thanksgiving alone do? Birthdays and holidays and Sunday nights are just days imbued with the sense of belonging granted by a loving and generous family. They speak of many years of difficulty and the perfect exultation of bringing new life into this world and the desperate sadness of watching it go. But the transcendent and transformative power of new experience means that spending these days alone will give them new significance. It means I can create or discover my own language of family and love and religion and self-confidence and home. It's an exhilarating prospect.<br />
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I know it's going to be hard. I'm not blind to the fact that starting from scratch is tedious and difficult. But armed with this knowledge, I'm a little less intimidated and a little more prepared. And I am absolutely ready to become more.<br />
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<br />
Watch out, Scotland. Ready or not, here I come.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://app.studyabroad.illinois.edu/_customtags/ct_Image.cfm?Image_ID=13181" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://app.studyabroad.illinois.edu/_customtags/ct_Image.cfm?Image_ID=13181" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did not take this picture. In fact, I didn't take any pictures while I was in Edinburgh.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~</div>
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Recorded 5/7/13<br />
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P.S. I'm now accepting donations. Make checks payable to the Aubrey's Sooner Rather Than Later Fund.</div>
Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-33574074350472438542013-03-28T23:51:00.000-06:002013-03-28T23:52:32.111-06:00Holy Thursday, Batman! (not as lighthearted as it sounds)I just realized that this is Holy Week. I don't know how I missed it, but knowing that I squandered the days leading up to Easter and the correlative opportunity to pay homage to my Savior makes me very sad, especially in light of my (almost sacred) epiphany last night. <br />
<br />
I haven't been giving enough of myself, and it has to stop. Actually, I don't think that's right. I think I need to find ways to include my spirituality, my religion, my love of God in everything I do. It's high time I prioritize and put the Lord first, because if I can't remember that Easter is this Sunday, and I can't find the time to celebrate the resurrection of Christ and think about what it all means for me, then I'm not doing it right.<br />
<br />
I'll start with sharing the scripture that currently occupies my chalkboard:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my father will love him, and we will come to him, and make our abode with him." </blockquote>
John 14:23<br />
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<br />
And making a concerted effort to keep His words.Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-77021145268893873042013-03-28T01:24:00.000-06:002013-03-28T23:54:32.817-06:00Leaning In<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VA7PoeX_iZw/UVPmOm_nJ7I/AAAAAAAAAas/ZAyGja07-JI/s1600/HPIM0348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VA7PoeX_iZw/UVPmOm_nJ7I/AAAAAAAAAas/ZAyGja07-JI/s320/HPIM0348.JPG" width="240" /></a>I have a thing for doors. When I was in Europe, I took just as many pictures of interesting doors I came across as anything else. In fact, except for a waxwork of the queen and a tiny stained-glass window, the only things I photographed in Warwick were doors. I'm not sure what it is about them that seems so romantic to me, but I distinctly remember a pink door in our neighborhood in Chicago which charmed the pants right off me, so I'm pretty sure it's a deep-seated thing.</div>
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Starting with the house we built in Alpine, my mother always painted our front door a welcoming, rustic red. It was a little glimpse of the fiery woman my mother was, a splash of her personality right there, first thing you notice about the house and a telltale sign of the kind of life led inside. That red door became a symbol of home, a beacon that called us to warmth and security and helped us tell people where to park.</div>
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But it wasn't the door.</div>
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We ascribe so much power to inanimate objects.</div>
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The door had nothing to do with the home, yet it seemed like everything. I could step up onto the kickplate after a long day, bathe in the color reflecting off of the door, lean in, and know that this was the place to which I always wanted to return. I would ache for home, and the door would take me there.<br />
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I had a long day today. It was just another day in a series of never-endingly-long days that piled up this month. At its close, arms full of all the stuff I take with me and never seem to need, I trudged up the stairs to my apartment. I managed to extract my keys from my armtangle, slipped the key into the lock, and leaned into the door. It swung open in an easy sort of way and I stood in the quiet and the darkness of an unoccupied room. <br />
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I was home.<br />
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That truth rushed in out of nowhere, filled me up, and spilled over in a thousand thankful prayers.<br />
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At work today, I read a manuscript about a woman who suffered from postpartum depression. It's a first-hand account of her struggle to love her newborn son, the trauma the experience caused, and her life after the trial. Near the end of the book, when the author talked about the aftermath, I had this thought:<br />
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Where much is given, much is required. But I think the inverse is also true<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">—</span>where much is required, much is given.<br />
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That woman had to endure an excruciating few months, which nearly cost her everything. But in the end, she gained a beautiful, healthy family, a deep sense of appreciation for all of the good in her life, empathy for others who suffer from similar ailments, stronger ties to her husband, an unexpected financial opportunity, and countless other blessings. The Lord required much of her, and when she had given everything, He gave her so much more than she could have asked for.<br />
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I've been lost the last few years. If it's possible to wander from one day to the next, directionless, confused, and desperate, that's what I've been doing. Having spent more nights sleeping on the couch than in my bed just for a change of scenery, missed the bus more times than I can count because I simply couldn't get out of bed in the morning, and been so lonely and helpless that I cried myself to sleep every night for three weeks, I cannot tell you the relief it was to come home tonight and be <i>home</i>.<br />
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Truly, where much is required, so very much is given.<br />
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My door is a shabby white (and still plastered with paper snowflakes from a heart attack incident in December). The paint is peeling in a few places, the lock sometimes sticks, and I'm pretty sure the weatherstripping needs to be replaced. But when I turn the key and lean into it at the end of a never-endingly-long day, it might as well be a welcoming, rustic red<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">—</span>a symbol of home.</div>
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~~~</div>
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Recorded 3/27/13Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-46120595356271207412013-02-14T02:05:00.001-07:002013-02-14T02:05:51.158-07:00I'm Such a Nerd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UnuAKk1lxTM/URymhbmSBsI/AAAAAAAAAYk/oNvLF2yYoY0/s1600/Aubrey+Warner+Acting+Resume+Clean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UnuAKk1lxTM/URymhbmSBsI/AAAAAAAAAYk/oNvLF2yYoY0/s640/Aubrey+Warner+Acting+Resume+Clean.jpg" width="492" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">Okay, I know it's been forever since I posted anything about me and my life, and I promise I'll get to that soon. In the meantime, lookit what I made! I made this! I'm just so proud of it I could look at it forever.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">Except that it's two in the morning and I need to go to bed before I go insane.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">Le sigh, I am so in love with InDesign. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">I never have to worry about whether the program I open this with on another computer will screw up the formatting! I can export this as a JPEG or a PDF or a dozen other file types! It wasn't even hard to get my headshot exactly where I wanted it! </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">I'm going to bed. Hopefully I'll have sweet, sweet dreams of easy-peasy document building.</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-64028711245339801122013-01-29T18:25:00.001-07:002013-01-30T09:37:32.902-07:00On the Way Home: A Word Doodle<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vOJAtmIAbOE/UQh02ybDtoI/AAAAAAAAAX8/2-6xnBw_GfE/s1600/HPIM0177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vOJAtmIAbOE/UQh02ybDtoI/AAAAAAAAAX8/2-6xnBw_GfE/s320/HPIM0177.jpg" width="320" /></a></blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I want to dogear this moment and revisit it with my pen, come back to it again and again and circle my favorite parts, and talk about it nonstop at dinner parties. I want to fold your words into a paper heart and hang it from my rearview mirror because this is perfection. </blockquote>
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Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-33889665898364214702013-01-27T03:12:00.000-07:002013-01-27T03:15:36.824-07:00Perfection on a Chalkboard<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FUfS5ipQYv0/UQT8DvSMyjI/AAAAAAAAAXo/GkBI40cPbUA/s1600/298176_10150828183570657_1672670647_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FUfS5ipQYv0/UQT8DvSMyjI/AAAAAAAAAXo/GkBI40cPbUA/s1600/298176_10150828183570657_1672670647_n.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Love is the only ecstasy, everything else weeps. To love or to have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Victor Hugo, <i>Les Miserables</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I find myself coming back to this quote time and time again. I don't know why it speaks to me so completely, but somehow I can never get it out of my head.</span>Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-27208971518898296012013-01-24T23:39:00.000-07:002013-01-25T00:11:04.242-07:00From MayIt's hard not to hate people who are in love. Okay, that was a dramatic overstatement. I don't hate people who are in love, in fact I genuinely feel happy for the couples who aren't gross in public. Still, when I saw my best friend's shadow connected to her boyfriend's, long and lean as we moved across the pavement, their hands indistinguishable from one another, a whisper of envy rasped through my mind. I've never held hands with someone I really cared about. I've dreamed about the familiarity of interlocked fingers, of thumb over thumb, of filling the space between palms with warm conversation. I've thought about holding hands just for the motion<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">—</span>wrist to heel to crease to fingers. But I've never been connected to a long, lean shadow, and so the envy creeps in.<br />
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Today (Memorial Day) was much more difficult than I had anticipated. Perhaps it was due to the lack of sleep, or to the impromptu visit to the cemetery, or maybe it's just that I haven't cried in such a long time. Whatever the reason, I found myself sobbing silently at the top of the staircase by the sound booth during "How Could I Ever Know". I still had to sing the finale, and I knew people would see me, but I couldn't stop crying. All at once I was overwhelmed with the anxiety I've been keeping at bay. I thought of the sweet boy I had to hurt, and of the idiocy of my fears, and of the loneliness that ever slinks along behind me, eager to pounce. My mind was awash with every emotion I'd suppressed since Tech Week, and, unable to process all of this, I cried until I got home and had to wrestle my leftovers into the fridge. <br />
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I was shorter than I should have been with Laurel. When we got in her car, she cracked a joke about the tissue box. I came up with a snappy retort, I just didn't have the energy to say it out loud.<br />
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~~~</div>
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Recorded 5/28/12</div>
Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-15079881054166881792013-01-21T19:55:00.001-07:002013-05-11T00:12:11.392-06:00Two ThingsFirst thing.<br />
Guys! Guys. I'm really good at my job.<br />
<br />
Today, I spent 10 1/2 hours typesetting. Right around hour 7, InDesign decided it wanted to be cute with me. Behold, InDesign:MineSweeper:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyCvsd0ZrBv31OCWu07HxqLP7e2OHliuoLMpjYyiCpc2jFOAOiawMMngBKCHPzKYPtAqe4kxtREGs0kjELWtQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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No, I don't know how that happened, either.<br />
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I got the typeset back to normal for a minute, but I guess InDesign was feeling really needy and/or special, because then it decided to do this:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzkZYOIyIk9DXnP65uP2mngu3YvmLmeTyBpC0BvYn02Oqug06BjY-WUlbN5lLZjQbSkOxBbAzU3BTgRdaDndg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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That's when Sam and I decided we should quit and start the program up again. I FINISHED the typeset (yay!), which was very exciting because it's my first finished typeset. I didn't do the first six chapters, but I did the rest of the book. So Sam was walking me through the finishing stages, which include scrolling through the entire book one paragraph at a time to look for extra spaces and missed chapter headings and whatever all else. </div>
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Hey, remember that typeset I was tellin' you about?</div>
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Ruined it.</div>
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Found an entire chapter that I had not formatted smack in the middle of the thing. Yay. We spent an hour trying to salvage what we could, but the stress of the situation at the end of a 10 1/2-hour workday proved to be too much for me. I had a mini nervous breakdown and Sam dragged me home. She has to spend a few hours tomorrow fixing it. </div>
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Sam awarded me with this for something completely unrelated, but I'm pretty sure I earned it today:</div>
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I gave a talk in church yesterday. You can read it if you want to.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Theme: Christmas in the Rearview Mirror</span></h4>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Topic: The Worst Christmas Ever</span></h4>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Don’t answer this question out loud, but think about it: how many of you have already put your Christmas decorations away? When did you do it? Boxing Day? New Year’s Eve? Last night? My Christmas tree is still up. I put it up in November, and it’ll probably stick around until May, much to my roommates’ chagrin.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I can’t help it. That’s the way I was raised. My mother famously said that she started listening to Christmas music in January. She shopped for presents throughout the year. She made Christmas a big deal. Because of her efforts, Christmas surpassed Saint Patrick’s Day as my favorite holiday somewhere around my ninth birthday. Now I celebrate it with all the fervor of an overzealous Who.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Although Christmas holds a special place in my heart, or maybe because it holds a special place in my heart, I’ve had three Christmases that are humdinger contenders for the worst Christmas ever.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The last Christmas with my mother was wonderful and terrible. We knew we were blessed to have that extra time with her, but we also knew it was the last Christmas we would have together. Every gift was special. My mom invited a family friend who had nowhere else to go that year (which was so typical of my mother). We watched lots of movies, ate fancy meals, laughed about gag gifts, and enjoyed each others’ company. But it was all soured by the whispers of death that swept a steady undercurrent through our traditions and conversations and gift-giving. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then there was the Christmas after my mother died. We were in a new house with really weird architecture, so there wasn’t much room. We were all crammed into a tiny penta/hexagonal-ish living room. Throughout the morning, someone would open a gift and get really excited about it, and my dad would say quietly, “Your mother picked that out for you.” Christmas, which is usually loud and boisterous and something worth remembering, was subdued--it didn’t really feel like Christmas.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This year was our first Christmas with a blended family. It’s hard to try to reconcile two sets of traditions. It’s hard to open your heart to dozens of strangers and suddenly have to call them family. It’s just hard.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But the thing is, it’s Christmas. These were very difficult situations, and they dampened the cheer of the season, but they could not smother it entirely because Christmas is so much more than two or three days of chaotic family gatherings, even if those gatherings include a reenactment of the Nativity and stories about “the true meaning of Christmas.” (which is a phrase that I kind of hate) Christmas is an idea that is central to the Christian faith. As so many people have said, the spirit of Christmas is the spirit of Christ. The best remedy for the worst Christmas ever is sharing the spirit of Christ. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">President Monson said: </span><br />
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Let us make Christmas real. It isn’t just tinsel and ribbon, unless we have made it so in our lives. Christmas is the spirit of giving without a thought of getting. It is happiness because we see joy in people. It is forgetting self and finding time for others. It is discarding the meaningless and stressing the true values. It is peace because we have found peace in the Savior’s teachings. It is the time we realize most deeply that the more love is expended, the more there is of it for others.<span style="color: black; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></blockquote>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Matthew 25: 37-40 reads:</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">39 Or when saw we thee </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">sick</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">, or in prison, and came unto thee?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">done</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> it unto one of the </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">least</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> of these my </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">brethren</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">, ye have done it unto me.</span></blockquote>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">President David O. McKay declared: </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“True happiness comes only by making others happy—the practical application of the Savior’s doctrine of losing one’s life to gain it. In short, the Christmas spirit is the <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Christ</span> spirit, that makes our hearts glow in brotherly love and friendship and prompts us to kind deeds of service.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It is the spirit of the gospel of <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Jesus Christ</span>, obedience to which will bring ‘peace on earth,’ because it means—good will toward all men.”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Loneliness, misery, and heartache do not belong to the Christmas season exclusively. They run rampant year-round through the world, through our ward, through our friends’ lives. So it is with opportunities to serve, to lift up our brethren, to lead them to Christ. The remedy for the worst Christmas ever just so happens to be the remedy for the worst week ever or the worst Monday ever. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">President Monson said:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Because He came to earth, we have a perfect example to follow. As we strive to become more like Him, we will have joy and happiness in our lives and peace each day of the year. It is His example which, if followed, stirs within us more kindness and love, more respect and concern for others.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Because He came, there is meaning to our mortal existence.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Because He came, we know how to reach out to those in trouble or distress, wherever they may <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>be.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Because He came, death has lost its sting, the grave its victory. We will live again because He came.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Because He came and paid for our sins, we have the opportunity to gain eternal life.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We can turn from the paths which would lead us down and, with a song in our hearts, follow a star and walk toward the light. We can quicken our step, bolster our courage, and bask in the sunlight of truth. We can hear more clearly the laughter of little children. We can dry the tear of the weeping. We can comfort the dying by sharing the promise of eternal life. If we lift one weary hand which hangs down, if we bring peace to one struggling soul, if we give as did the Master, we can—by showing the way become a guiding star for some lost mariner.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If we are to have the very best Christmas [or January or Valentine’s Day or Monday] ever, we must listen for the sound of sandaled feet. We must reach out for the Carpenter’s hand. With every step we take in His footsteps, we abandon a doubt and gain a truth.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My testimony is that Christ can heal all hurts. He can mend broken hearts, He can bring families together, He can fill you with love and understanding. If we remember Christ</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;">—</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">His birth, His ministry, His atonement, His death and resurrection</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;">—if we strive to do as He would do and serve as He would serve, we can have the Spirit of Christmas</span><span style="color: #2e393a; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;">—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;">the spirit of Christ</span><span style="color: #2e393a; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;">to bless and guide us throughout the year and throughout our lives.</span><br />
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Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-10562395559452101762013-01-18T20:30:00.000-07:002013-01-21T19:57:38.888-07:00Fun Fact: There Is No Entry for "Doodle" in My ThesaurusSometimes the crazies who run Covenant let me typeset books (I'm lookin' at you, Sam). Apparently, ever since they let me at it, InDesign has been acting up. Its favorite thing to do lately has been attaching paragraphs to each other and spacing everything out weird. Mostly this is really obnoxious, as it means a lot of extra time and energy for me and the proofreaders, but today I found this:<br />
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Ah haaa! The typeset was whining at me. And/or that character cannot understand why anyone would give up alcohol.</div>
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It's the little things.</div>
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It's the little things.</div>
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I wrote a really long journal entry on New Year's Eve and I had every intention of posting it, but I'm not sure that I'm quite ready to share it yet. I'm trying to be patient, to let the words present themselves to me, to stumble upon the right way to adequately describe some really complex emotions that I've dug up. I still can't quite say what I mean. </div>
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In the mean time, I've been doodling with words again. Practice makes perfect, eh? Well, practice makes more familiar, anyway.</div>
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Here's a word doodle for your enjoyment:</div>
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Mrs. Sowerberry's bun was always a little askew. She would hold it with her left hand and pin it in place with her right, and her arms were so short that she had to tilt her head down to reach. The heavy hair would inevitably drag her head to one side, so her bun always sat just left of center. Mrs. Sowerberry was a tiny, tidy, nasty woman. </div>
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This perpetual imperfection--her lopsided hairdo--irked Mrs. Sowerberry. It was the one thing she could not sweep, dust, polish, or scrub away. She hated it, and hating that small part of herself so intensely and for so long took its toll. One can only scowl at one's self in the mirror so many mornings before one believes there is nothing at all to smile at.</div>
Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-58489204705033922842012-12-27T22:25:00.000-07:002012-12-27T22:26:10.634-07:00Did I Mention the Onion Breath?I'm sitting alone in my dad's basement eating my second bag of mint M&Ms and watching British sketch comedy from the 80s while lighting matches against the dog's putrid farts and crying quietly to myself.<br />
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Do I know how to spend a Friday night, or what?Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-69819264907741516142012-12-17T14:45:00.000-07:002012-12-24T10:43:17.471-07:00PlentyI read through all of my blog posts the other night <span style="font-size: x-small;">(because what else is a single, twenty-something girl to do on a Saturday night?)</span>, and I noticed that I'm always talking about a drought or a dearth or a scarcity of words. It seems like whenever I don't write in my journal for months at a time, I blame the words and their elusiveness--who can arrest the mercurial appellations which taunt and dance and entice the scribbler from just beyond her capabilities? Ugh. Gag me.<br />
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In all seriousness, it wasn't fair for me to blame the words: I doodle with words instead of pictures. Stories happen to me <span style="font-size: x-small;">(pour into my head when I meet a disgruntled employee at Taco Bell or when I watch a magnificent sunset or when I'm trying to get to bed at three in the morning) </span>whether I'm looking for them or not. I doodle with words instead of pictures. I read emails I've sent and I can't believe I wrote them because they sound so naturally professional. <br />
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Sometimes I feel like I'm made up of words.<br />
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No, it isn't language's fault that I don't write. Note: <i>don't</i>, not <i>can't</i>. I can write about anything, but I don't. I just don't.<br />
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So here it is: no more excuses. And this isn't like all of the other resolutions I've ever made on this blog. I need to take responsibility for my decisions, and I need to learn to express myself whether I can describe this feeling or that just so or not. Because who cares whether it's perfect? Not all prose can or should be breathtaking. I need to learn to trust the beauty of my life and to trust that I will accumulate words as I search for them, as I sit down to write. <br />
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There is no drought over here. <br />
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I have plenty to say.Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-41809131503954022112012-12-13T13:41:00.000-07:002012-12-13T13:44:20.714-07:00DrivelI stumbled upon this today while making my Christmas list. I'm going to post it exactly the way I found it, even though it's pretty rough around the edges; it accurately reflects my state of mind, which is very valuable in my current emotional drought.<br />
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Ready? Here it is:<br />
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<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">11/30/12</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cast party:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On the way home from the party, we talked about men and movies and books and Friday nights. Our conversation followed us out of the car when we reached my building, but [it trailed after Heather to her car, dampened [curtailed] by the misty November rain][Heather took it with her when she left.] I trudged up the cement stairs to my landing, dance parties and rap parodies [...] drizzle, sadness, glimmers of the vibrance of those lives, these moments</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyway, the point is, I pulled out my key, my key, </span></i> </blockquote>
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<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This door, my door, my life--friends and loss and productivity and a landing stained with pumpkin matter and the drizzling rain and my blue coat and hot chocolate and joining in the fun when all I want to do is cry and finally having a place that feels like home. This is it. This is my life. I’ve made something of it. I used to feel my unfulfilled potential bubbling up and making me crazy (and sometimes I still feel like I could be so much more), but not today. Today I have a home and a life worth living and so many, many, many things to be thankful for.</span><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></i> </blockquote>
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<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I felt peace tonight. No crippling anxiety, no swirling depression, no sense of displacement. When I fitted that key to my lock, I knew I would open a door to the life I have built for myself--to a clock that ticks out a peaceful rhythm, and a bed that really needs a frame, and a feeling of security and great faith in my future. I haven’t felt so at ease in a very, very long time.</span></i></blockquote>
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Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132422321880706968.post-17584010888956700052012-08-27T20:19:00.000-06:002012-08-27T20:19:26.582-06:00A (Poorly Explained) RationaleWhile shopping for supplies for ACTF last January, Robbie and I were perusing the toiletries aisle. I hemmed and hawed over toothpaste choices, trying to find the one with the most whitening power for the least amount of money <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(I have a pathological need to exhibit blindingly white teeth)</span>. <br />
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"What I really, really want is the Crest 3D Whitening. It works much better than any other stuff," I said as I oggled the shiny blue boxes way up on the top shelf. <br />
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"Get it," Robbie said so matter-of-factly.<br />
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"But it's four dollars a tube."<br />
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"But you want it, so get it."<br />
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"I don't know, it's expensive."<br />
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"Just get it. Why shouldn't you? You know it works, you really want it, so buy it."<br />
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The wonderfully patient Robbie listened to me whine for another minute or two before he convinced me to invest in myself in this small way and buy the expensive toothpaste.<br />
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I spent $250 at Kohl's today. I bought that new wardrobe I've been talking about for months. I needed it for work (I only had one pair of pants <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">[shorts]</span> and not much to wear with them), none of my old clothes fit very well, and I'm not the same person I was when I bought them. So $250 for new clothes it is. <br />
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And it means much more than having something nice to wear every day, but just now I'm suffering a shortage of words and I can't accurately pen my thoughts, hence the seemingly disunited story about Robbie and me traversing the aisles of Walmart.<br />
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But I can tell you this: I bought yellow pants, red pants, and purple pants, and that's a mark of extraordinary forward motion.Aubrey Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05513203731645361423noreply@blogger.com1