Becoming More

I'm moving.

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, Auld Reekie it will be.

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.

And I'll likely be alone.

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.

I took this picture with my left hand!

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.

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.

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.


Watch out, Scotland.  Ready or not, here I come.

I did not take this picture. In fact, I didn't take any pictures while I was in Edinburgh.

~~~

Recorded 5/7/13



P.S. I'm now accepting donations.  Make checks payable to the Aubrey's Sooner Rather Than Later Fund.

Ugly Days

I was home alone this evening and since I can't plop myself down in front of the TV like I usually do, I plopped myself down in front of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I was feeling lonely, you see, and I thought that watching a movie about somebody else who is lonely would make me feel better. I forgot that Tula actually finds a man pretty early on and they get married. The movie didn't really help me to not be lonely.

I am trying really hard to convince myself that I'm worth it, that somebody is going to fall head over heels in love with me and won't be able to sleep for thinking about me. It's really hard to imagine, as I sit here with my greasy hair and an unwashed face in smelly clothes while foaming at the mouth with Crest Whitening Rinse, that anybody will ever find me attractive, much less attractive enough to spend the rest of eternity with.

But even on these ugly days when I can't see past my jiggling thighs, I am trying to discover things about myself that are lovable. I am not the prettiest, the smartest, the skinniest, or the most spiritual person around, but I love life even when it's a montage of empty Lean Cuisine boxes and late night Project Runway marathons. I'm willing to give myself time and to figure all this out.

I don't know whether I'm worth marrying, but I know I'm worth that much.

~~~

Recorded 6/23/11

Where Are Those Cement Shoes?

The parking services dudes at UVU are notoriously angry and they give tickets for breathing in the wrong parking stall if you're not careful. I am, therefore, always suspicious when I've parked illegally and managed to get away without a ticket.

Yesterday. I was running late for Practicum cause I had to get gas on the way. I parked in a faculty parking space in the lot south of the annex. When class was over 25 minutes later, I approached my vehicle cautiously. There was no yellow paper on the window- a good sign (my brother has an unpaid ticket from before this car was mine). There was no strip of white paper under the windshield wiper. I was safe? So I climbed in my car, put the keys in the ignition and hesitated... WHAT IF.

And, really, these thoughts went through my head in a mostly serious way.

WHAT IF the parking services, tired of people getting away with the parking equivalent of murder, upgraded from BOOTS



to CAR BOMBS?!

They certainly wouldn't leave a nasty note on the window telling you that your car would blow up if you turned the key. They'd do it mob style.

They didn't catch me in the annex parking lot, or even at the library an hour later. But I'm on to you, parking service mob dudes. I am hiring someone to start my car for me starting the next time I don't have the right sticker in my window.

Everyone else, don't be surprised if you see something like this on the news:

You've been warned.
o.O

Harumph

I am not in class right now. I should be. I should be in Movement for the Actor by John Grahm. I should be stretching and viewpointing and creating shapes and contributing to the energy of the class. But I'm not. I couldn't make myself go, even after John told me I'm not going to fail.

I have a paper due in Philosophy. I couldn't write it when I sat down to it last night. I probably won't go to that class today, either.

I thought I had come so far. I felt better about school this semester. I took easy classes, ones that are exciting and fun and about things that I love. I haven't had more than two panic attacks a month since January. So why is it too much all of the sudden?

I am not yet strong enough to do this on my own. And I feel so alone. I feel so overwhelmed and helpless and so very alone.

I don't know what to do.

"Walking the Last Bridge Alone"

I mentioned earlier that I felt better.


That was before.


Actually, I'm worse now than I was last semester.
...


Yeah.
...

So.
...

...

Meg asked me tonight, "What's your problem?" And I sobbed and said, "I don't know."


I don't know what my problem is. I don't know why it's getting worse. I'm sure I would if I thought about it, but I don't want to think about it. I don't want to start poking around only to discover that it's far worse than I thought and I'll never be cured and I'll live my life NOT as a lobsterman's wife, but as some poor, crazy sap at a loony bin who never finds love and then escapes to collect grocery bags into a stolen cart and scream at people when they get too close to her corner.


There is something seriously wrong with my mind.

A Financial Update

August 25: "A correction was sent to CPS on your behalf. Check back."
"Free Application for Federal Student Aid Waiting for correction."

I did check back, and you told me just to wait it out.

August 30: "A correction was sent to CPS on your behalf. Check back."

And I thought, 'Well, at least the FAFSA has finished processing.'

August 31: "A correction was sent to CPS on your behalf. Check back."
"Free Application for Federal Student Aid Waiting for correction 04."


Eff my liiiiiiife.

We've un-progressed. We've regressed.

I might never get my money.

They're going to give it away to some awful person whose parents cut them off because they've been going to school for twelve years now and have accomplished nothing.

They're going to run out of money and the $2,750 I was expecting is going to be $65.38.

I'm going to end up living in a cardboard box on the road behind the GT.

I'm going to eat worms and bird eggs and flies. I'm going to make my clothes out of leaves and grass and pine needles. I'll make friends with rabbits and bears so they can cuddle with me and keep me warm at night. I'll sell my soul to the Theatre department to pay for tuition. I'll sneak up behind people who are studying in the library, render them unconscious with the forest ninja skills I'll learn from the bears and the rabbits, use their book for my home work, and then put it back so when they wake up it'll be like some awesome yet terrible dream that may or may never have happened. They'll write articles about me in the UVU newspaper. Three years from now, I'll be a Lifetime Original Movie. Tourists will flock to the road behind to GT to get a glimpse of me, to take their picture with BearRabbitSoullessTheatreGirl (which will be the title of the film). And after all of that, I'll still be paisley soup bowl-free. Because my loan money will never come.

I am destined to die, feeble and despondent, in the arms of my best bear friend, having never found true love because people will be repulsed by my stench.







These might all be legitimate concerns.




Homeless at Library Square - Salt Lake City, originally uploaded by inneri.

Watch for me.