Neither Here Nor There

I am in limbo. I'm living out of a linen closet and sleeping on a couch while most of my furniture, favorite books, and blankets are at my grandma's, and my hopes and aspirations are in this little basement bedroom in a 6-person house in Midtown Orem. I no longer consider myself a theatre major, though I have not yet made the transfer official. I drive down to UVU for church every Sunday, but I never make the trek for mid-week meetings and I don't really know anybody in my ward. I'm playing a game of emotional twister, my feet and hands in all directions, not really accomplishing anything.

The meantime, the bit in between, the ambiguous phase before I move out and before I really settle in-- this is a time of reconfiguration. This is the point where I gather my thoughts, evaluate my position. I see equal parts inevitability and promise stretching before me, and I'm ready to topple into the future with all of its unknowable glory. But for this moment I stand on the meridian and gather strength.

I know that this coming semester is going to be difficult. I did it on purpose. I chose to retake most of the classes I've ever failed because if I'm going to start over, to reinvent myself as a good student, what better way than my conquering those classes that defeated me in the past? (When I say defeated, I mean they contributed to the development of my anxiety disorders. I'm not being dramatic for drama's sake) In the last golden weeks of summer, I am developing habits that will help me weather this self-inflicted storm.

Eliminating theatre has been so good for me. I never realized how much of my own life I was missing out on until I took a step back and really looked at it. Tonight I went to a little party, the first solid exposure I've had for a long while to people deeply entrenched in this world. They talked so much about other people's lives and business, and I saw clearly the toll that this lifestyle takes. I think theatre will always be something I do, and I know that I'm better for my little love affair, but right now I'm so glad to be walking away from it as a way of life.

I'm also working on a permanent assignment from Ann. She seems to think that it's okay for me to like myself, even though I'm not perfect. She wants me to try.

I am trying. It's so, so hard to find things about myself that aren't despicable, but I'm gonna give this assignment my best shot.

And I'm 'running' in the mornings and trying to eat better (ignore the twelve Oreo balls I've devoured this week), but those are far less interesting topics than limbo and self-loathing.

So while I'm poised on the Great Meridian of My Short Life and soaking up the pure energy of sunlit family-filled afternoons and early morning jogs and wisdom teeth surgery and meaningful scripture study, I acknowledge that the crap's about to hit the fan in a bigbig way, and tonight I'm perfectly happy to be neither here nor there.

~~~

Recorded 8/15/11

I'll Admit It Through an Anecdote

I recently stumbled across this brilliant little blog called Reasoning With Vampires. It's a thorough deconstruction of the Twilight series, and I love it. I spent three hours today catching up on the posts I've never read (don't judge me. I'm never productive in summer). This one post made me wonder where publishing companies draw the line in terms of a piece's awfulness. How horrendous can a manuscript be and still find its way across Mr. Boss's desk and into the "PUBLISH THIS" pile? Has the threshold ever been scientifically tested?

As you may remember from my previous posts, I record books on tape for a company called Covenant Communications. The things they hand me to read are not always works of art. Last time I was in the booth I took five minutes to read one sentence because of its accidental humorous connotation (your mother is a German Shepherd!).

All of this is to say that the part about the editor set the devious half of my brain a-scheming and I decided to see whether I could write the world's worst book and manage to get it published. Then I came to my senses and felt like I needed to take a shower.

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

Happy, Happy Birthday

What a good day. I woke up around 8 (that's really early, even thought I went to bed before midnight last night- I was exhausted), started the first day of the Summer Sit Up Challenge (Randilee and I are starting at 30 sit ups every morning. As soon as we can, we'll increase to 35, then 40, on up until school starts in August), at some breakfast (Cap'n Crunch), then went to Niccole's to work on the cake and play with the babies (parentheses party! I couldn't let this sentence be left out).Kelsey has quite the little attitude. Niccole had her all dressed and ready to go shopping for supplies by the time i arrived around 9:30, but she still needed to get her shoes on. We made a big production of looking for her princess sandals so she would be excited to wear them, but after all of that work she decided she'd rather wear her boots. They're pink faux suede uggs that zip up on the inside. They do not go with pink plaid shorts and a shiny Hello Kitty t-shirt, not to mention it's June and nobody needs to wear boots anymore. Niccole was exasperated. I thought it was adorable. If I were more prone to doodling, I would draw her with braided pigtails, that rainbow shiny shirt, those tiny shorts, and the huge pink boots. So cute!

While Niccole and I we

re decorating the cake, Kelsey was stacking the dye bottles on top of each other.

"I'm making a sand castle!"

Then she would knock them over and go "rescue" the ones that had fallen to the floor. She kept yelling at me.

"AAAAUBREEEEY! Hey AAAUUBBREEEEYY! AUBREY! HEY!"

"Yes, Kelsey?"

"Is this blue?"

"No, that's green."

"You're right! It's green!"

"Yup. That's green."

A moment of quiet babble.

"AAAAAAUUBREEEEY!"

And that's how it went for 40 minutes.

Before I left, I helped clean up a bit (that was the payment for the cake). Also, I cuddled with Kelsey until she fell asleep. I love holding sleeping babies. There is something exquisitely bitter-sweet about it.

I brought Randilee down here so she and BJ could see the show again. They went to Shoots and brought me some left overs.

Then.

After the show.

It was time for the cast birthday party.

It was so much FUN! First we opened the pinata in a rather imaginative way; since the Sacketts don't have a place to string up something to whack, we placed the pinata in the middle of the floor next to the bat and a pair of fuzzy gloves. We rolled dice for doubles. When doubles were achieved (?), the roller donned the fuzzy gloves and took one good whack at the pinata. Once everyone got the hang of it, it was a roaring good time.

Next, we did the white elephant gift exchange, Warner Style. We used a shortened, modified version of The Cat in the Hat, which David and Cameron read. Again, once everyone got the hand of the take each others' presents thing and the time wore down, it was a blast.

We quickly sang at the birthday cake, sans candles, so everyone who had to leave early could do so without feeling guilty about cutting into the cake. Then we had Sackett ice cream. I think I've been sworn to secrecy? I'm not sure, but it was hysterically funny. Word of advice: Do NOT get between Eric and his ice cream.

And then things kind of wound down. Most people had to leave. Those who stayed played Pounce. Me knees took a beating. It was just me, Scott, Shelly, Melissa, and Randilee by the time we decided to play Wario Ware Smooth Moves. That is my favorite party game of all time.

And then it was really late, so we all went home.

Mark this day- let it be known that on June 3rd, 2011, Aubrey Warner threw her first ever successful party.

Mmmm.

What a good day.

:)

~~~

Recorded 6/3/11

Notes from the Lieberry

I'm making a pinata! I took some pictures of it, but I don't have a card reader with me (the internet is broken at my house AGAIN and I've taken refuge in the Orem City Library), so you'll have to wait to see the finished product. I know! The suspense is almost more than you can bear!

But what this really means is that I've taken up papier mache. Watch out, my bedroom. You're about the be utterly swamped by useless paper things that I make over the next couple weeks. And watch out, you few but loyal readers, for the bazillions of pictures of things that I am soon to create.

One more thing: I'm in love with most things Kate Nash.

One more one more thing: If you haven't seen Seussical yet, you should get yerself some tickets soon! We're reportedly already 83% sold out, which means that this is not a show to miss, but your chances of missing it are increasing at an alarming rate.

Have a wonderful rainy afternoon, everyone.

:)

A Genuinely Good Day

Okay, so I've been lectured on the dangers of owning a bathroom scale and of thinking about weight as opposed to health, but for me it is very much the same thing. I have spent the last decade of my life becoming, being, or recovering from being obese, so to me weight matters. I don't obsess over it, though, and I don't weigh myself on a regular basis. Usually, if I feel like I've had a good couple of weeks I'll step on the scale just to see how I'm doing.

This morning, for instance, I felt pretty good about life, and it seemed like it would be okay. So I checked to make sure my grandmother was occupied, then I sneaked in to her bathroom and dragged the scale away from the wall. It's avocado green with beige shag carpet on the foot pads and the numbers only go up to 250. I was struck by the realization that there was once a time this scale would have not been able to measure me. I took a deep breath, stepped up onto the shag carpet, counted to five, and looked down.




195



195. This might seem like a really high number to you, but to me it is a small victory. I haven't been below 200 pounds in probably 6 years. My battle is far from over, but little by little I'm gaining my life back. This is a step. I don't know how big or how small, but it's definitely a step forward. It feels monumental. I could erect a statue of this moment: a little scale with the giant numbers 195 and me off to the side, grinning from ear to ear.


Through all of this, these 10 years of disappointment and frustration and huge pant sizes, I've learned a few things. I've mentioned some of them before, but I think they're important to remember.

If you want to lose weight, go for it. Just make sure you do it right. Don't pump your body full of needless chemicals. Don't starve yourself. Don't think that you're broken or that you are unworthy of love or affection because you aren't a size 2 (this one is still hard for me). These things take time, patience, and a crap load of effort. Weight loss should be about changing your perception of yourself and developing a healthy relationship with your body and with food.


Think about who you are now as a person. Sarah-lucy once told me that maybe I was fat all of those years because I needed to be. I don't know if I believe her, but I know I would be totally different if I had been skinny. So while I don't relish the fact that I pretty much wasted my teenage years, I know that it led me to where I am today and I take it to be a jumping off point:

This is where I stand, that is where I want to be, this is what I'm going to do about it.


Realize that your body knows what it needs and will generally lead you in the right direction.

Discover the kind of exercise that you adore and do it often. Mine is dancing-- in musicals, via Just Dance 2, in the parking lot with Shelli -- and the eliptical/stairstepper machine at the gym.

Make friends with other people who are struggling through similar things.

Get yourself a really great therapist.

Find religion.

Remember that all of this is a part of getting to where you want to be.

Do it for yourself.

Do it because it's something different.

Do it because it's good, really, truly, powerfully good for you.



It's been hard. It's been involuntary at times. But this change has affected more than my appearance. I feel great. I haven't felt great in a long time. I mean, I've got my issues, but I'm taking great strides toward not hating myself. And that's huge. That's bigger than any number.

"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.

Unfulfilling Sunday Nights

I was going to write something interesting and insightful and it was going to reveal all kinds of things about my soul and the kind of day that I had.

But there's a cantaloupe quarter waiting for me, and the 10 o'clock news is about to come on.

That should give me time to sort out how I feel, shouldn't it.

Any Day Now, Loan Fairy

The problem with window shopping is that one often falls in love with something one cannot afford.

Tonight, in a fit of I'll-kill-you-if-you-open-your-mouth-again-type rage, Lou and I escaped to a shopping complex in American Fork hoping to find dishes worthy to be placed in the cupboard of our soon-to-be apartment. After a thorough yet fruitless search of Ross, we wound up at Bed Bath & Beyond, where my hapless heart set its pretty little hopes on these:
Paisley soup bowls! How perfect are they? Not too patterned, not too plain, big enough that they could potentially aide me in drowning my sorrows in ice cream or Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and off beat enough for them to speak to me. Maybe I loved them so much because I wasn't expecting to find them. Maybe the cosmos aligned and led me straight to the dinnerware of my dreams.

"Alack, that heaven should practice stratagem upon so soft a subject as myself!"

Wouldn' you know it, these bowls, since they cost any money at all, are way out of my price range.

...

Poop.
And I had the whole kitchen designed around them!

Harrumph.

Perspective

Surer footing. That's what this summer has changed the most; somewhere among the washed-out parking lot jam sessions, picnic lunches, and late night conversations, I think I have finally felt that indescribable sense of self awareness that gives purpose and meaning to life.

When my mom died almost two years ago, I fell apart. No, that's not quite right. It's like I split in half. Or was pared down, the most complex parts of me sloughed off, dissolved away. I was left with a poor imitation of the thing I'd lost. I became, out of necessity, some form of a mother to my friends, my siblings, my dad, myself. And that was fine. Sarah-lucy says that's where I needed to be. I think, though, that I've grown out of that. I don't know whether it's because I've begun to heal... I have a hard time believing that I don't need a mother anymore. Whatever the reason, whatever the origin of this growth, I am ready to move on.

I need to live on my own. I need to be in an environment where I don't feel responsible for the emotional well-being of everyone around me. Now that I've grown accustomed to sweet independence (not just a lack of curfew, but the true, rich, blessed freedom that comes from a sure center), I have to hold on to that, cultivate it. Therein lies the way to restoration, to reparation.

I feel better.

I'm still an emotional wasteland who misses her mom, but I feel closer now to the person I want to be (someone loving and trusted and delightfully complex and confident and brimming with potential) than I have felt in years.

~~~

Recorded 8/21/10

Out of the Dark

If you're wondering what I've been doing with my summer, the answer is this:




You should come see it because it's wonderful and it just might change your mind about Shakespeare or about life.

Also, I've been discovering my path, probing my fate, searching for that something that will lead me to the fulfillment of all my dreams. But seriously, I've been growing up.

Apartment hunting. It makes me feel mature. It makes me feel scared. It makes me feel like I can't wait to leave this place, but how could I ever go?

I have to remind myself that moving out does not equal betrayal, and that everyone will be a bit better off with me not in the house.

I have to remember that I can always come back for Sunday dinner, and that I can still take the girls out for movie nights and such.

And I have to think about how much I will grow, and how that will better qualify me to raise my own family when it's my turn.

So.

With the remainder of my summer, I'll be tapping in to my core and illuminating my future.

Hobey ho, let's go...

A Little Open-Minded Self Therapy

I just had a conversation with a friend, and it was miraculously coherent; I'm pretty sure God was keeping me awake and putting eloquent phrases into my mouth because I've been half asleep since about 4 PM. Anyway, while I was talking to my dear friend, she mentioned her fear of imminent failure and how that was holding her back. It got me to thinking, and about two seconds ago my brain said, "failure is a stepping stone- failure is enlightenment." Because when it all comes down to it, we can't pick ourselves up unless we've fallen, right? So failure is a vehicle, nothing but an effective and vivid teaching medium. At the end of it all, at least I'll know how things turned out.

So.
As disaster precedes illumination and I can always pick myself back up, I vow henceforth never to fear failure, but to embrace it, learn from it, and move on.

Doth Not Happiness and Hanson Begin Both With a Letter?

Oh, summer love songs! I thought I was going to get pulled over last night for shattering the noise ordinance in Cedar Hills (what? It could happen). I'm pretty sure I blew out my back speakers.

Kenmore Be Said?

The refrigerator in the garage is an interesting place to store sentiment, and yet, that's what I found when I went looking for a water bottle the other day. With its stainless steel double doors flung wide, I could see what hid behind its unassuming facade. This fridge is a relic, a talisman, a symbol of the life I used to lead. But its station in the garage, along with its formerly forbidden contents, illustrate the difference, highlight the expanse between past and present.

The cold air that rushed into the stifling summer heat could not distract from the garish white interior, stripped of its former gloriously unorganized usefulness. Too-large cases of off brand soda could not, try as they might, fill the emptiness.

My mother would disapprove of the steak in the wrong side of the meat/cheese drawer. She would disapprove of the sugary drinks and the excess bottles of milk. Yet there they were in her meticulously clean refrigerator- new habits, new tastes, new life nestled uncomfortably in one of the remaining standards of The House, or the dream it represented.

I closed the doors abruptly. Were it not for the water bottle clutched in my hand, I would have forgotten why I trekked out there in the first place.

The garage is a bit of a sanctuary now, in my mind. At its heart, sealed in a metal box, the juxtaposition of everything I lost and all that I'm learning to love (or live with).


~~~

Recorded 7/7/10

Twenty-One Going On Three

An inexplicable sadness washed over me this morning as I cruised State Street on my way home from rehearsal. You see, there was this awkward moment after I said goodbye to Meg when we ended up walking the same way to our cars. For some reason, I was unable to find anything intelligent to say. I ended up babbling about Sub Zero ice cream and the summer heat.

Meg is so grown up, so mature, so personable, so very much a woman. I, on the other hand, am awkward and juvenile. I still love Disney movies with all my heart; my favorite band is Hanson; I tend to watch movies over and over again; I live in a state of immediacy, concerned with my immediate future and feelings; I find it hard to express myself, and therefore spend much of my time being frustrated. All things I associate with childishness. By the next light, my mind had drawn a vivid parallel to a small child imagining that she is a mother, cradling her baby doll, smothering it with sticky-faced kisses, placing it gently in her own bed and insisting that it sleep. Then, satisfied, she toddles off to her plastic kitchen to place pizzaappleburgercorn in the oven for "some bites".

I have been playing at adulthood. I have created this life for this version of myself who yearns to live abroad and to really make her mark, but I live at home, safe in my bed with my teddy bear and my Harry Potter books on tape. The whole situation was punctuated, perhaps, by how deeply I was touched by Toy Story 3 and how out of place I felt at Jenn's bridal shower; my thoughts neatly illustrated by the day's events.

I really honestly feel like I've been living a lie. The sadness and the horror and the loneliness of such an epiphany seized me, and my confidence died. Today I grieve for myself, for the person I was, the person I thought I had become. I am alone and uncertain, stripped of my identity. Square one. It's time to set out to find me again.

What I don't understand is why I feel this way. Why should one failed conversation mean that this collection of personality traits and habits and interests I've carefully cultivated is irrelevant? How can one insignificant moment shatter my reality so thoroughly? Why should I doubt myself and my progress over the years? I was finally sure. Do I question my confidence, or do I scrap it and start all over?

I'm really glad that tomorrow is Sunday. I always seem to feel better, securely anchored after a good church session. I'm grateful that I always have something to fall back on, somewhere to start afresh when I need to.

I used to feel that looking for synonyms in a thesaurus was like lying, that my writing wasn't honest if I had to consult one to find an appropriate word. I've come to realize, however, that the thesaurus is an opportunity for growth. I use words that feel good, words with which I can really connect and relate. The thesaurus enables me to speak my mind, maybe a little more eloquently than I otherwise would have been able to.

"Soul n. 1. [Essential nature] spiritual being, heart, substance, individuality, disposition, cause, personality, force, essence, genius, principle, ego, psyche, life. 2. [the more lofty human qualities] courage, love, honor, duty, idealism, art, poetry, sense of beauty 3. [a person] human being, person, being."

"Hope n. 1. [reliance on future] faith, expectation, confidence."

"Experience v. undergo, feel, live through; see ENDURE."

~~~

Recorded 6/26/10

I -Wish- My Teeth Were That White

This is what I just wrote for my Romeo and Juliet bio:

"Aubrey is excited to be making her Shakespearean debut with Utah Shakespeare in the Park. She's a junior in UVU's theatre program who loves Hanson and aspires to have a working cell phone.

Some of Aubrey's previous, less Bard-ish roles include Little Becky Two Shoes inUrinetown; Fantine and Mme. Thenardier in Les Mis; Alice, the miserable ghost in The Secret Garden; Mrs. Smythe in A Christmas Carol; a manic, borderline dissociative identity cast member in Holiday Night Live; and myriad nameless ensemble characters. She wants to thank her daddy for shelling out gas money and otherwise being incredibly supportive."

I don't know why writing about myself in bio format is so hard. I guess I just always feel the need to be clever, entertaining, or funny, which is difficult when I'm just rhyming off past credits. I feel okay about this one, though.

I feel okay about a lot of things. Shelli and I finally made up, Jess and I finally made up, I'm only eighteen pounds away from my goal weight, I'm finally making money, I just saw a super racist anti-littering PSA from the 60s, Kyle bought me Shout It Out, it's summer, etc. etc.

Summer.

Camp.

That's right, folks, I am now officially 1/5 of the way through the inaugural Noorda (star!) Summer Camp.

Umm..

Um..

I really don't have much more to say about it, except this: it's fun, it's great, it's wonderful, it's my dream job, it makes me exhausted, and I think a month is just long enough.

So...

Okay, there is one thing. You see, there are seventeen characters in the show I'm ASMing. Unfortunately, we only have 14 children in the cast, so Jeremy asked if I would step in and take on two roles, except that there was no asking involved, and I can't exactly say no because this is my job. It wouldn't be a big deal (it isn't actually a big deal) if I didn't have another show that I was trying to memorize

Other than that, though, I feel pretty okay about it. Also, I used this camp as an excuse to buy some delicious and nutritious snacks, about which I feel okay. :)

Summer is the best.

Thinking 'Bout the Best News Ever!

It's 3:31 on a Saturday morning, and I just dragged myself away from the TV (and a terribly interesting documentary on Agatha Christie [did you know that there's a documentary channel?! Now I know what I'll do with my remaining week of summer vacation]), only to find myself helpless against my computer's inexplicable gravitational pull. I told myself that I was just going to check my Facebook to see whether my babysitting job tomorrow was a for sure thing, and one thing led to another, and I discovered that MySpace Music is hosting a listening party for the ENTIRE Shout It Out album, and I could not be more excited about having to stay up another hour to finish it out.

I love Hanson, guys. And guess what else? They're coming to Salt Lake in September! The last time Hanson came anywhere near Utah was on the Underneath tour two albums ago. And you know what else? The Depot is a private club for members, which means this time around I can get in because I'm 21!

So.. In case anyone forgot to get me a birthday or a Christmas present, tickets are on sale now.

:)

Have I mentioned how awesome life is? Life is awesome.
<3

Bum buttery, flit fluttery Dum diddly-ooh, Bum Buttery, bluebird Is singing a tune!

Peach pancakes with spicy brown sugar syrup, gentle spring

sunshine, snacks smuggled into movie theater. Today was the best day this week. I finished cleaning my room (a feat,

I assure you, that would have made Hercules cry like a little girl). Trinkets and memories and clothes in the garbage- 3 days of deconstructing my world and tearing little pieces out,

discarding the inessential. And now I can breathe. I shut my closet doors against aliens and monsters. Cobwebs (physical and figurative) have been cleared away. My thoughts have room to go skipping about. I fit comfortably back into my life.

So many things happened to me last week. A dinner party, poorly planned (and appropriately attended), yet lovingly prepared for my high school friends. We talked, the conversation fragile as our crystal plates and goblets. Time changes things. Time changed me. I felt the space between us, miles of life, years.

I washed the last dish today. I hid it in a cupboard behind some other, less ornate serving trays. I don't know when (or whether) I'll need it again.

The day after the party was Therapy Thursday, also known as the day I used Lou's kidney stones as an excuse to avoid confronting my emotions. I sent Jack an email ten minutes before my missed appointment. Coward. I fake solace in the fact that he hasn't responded- if he doesn't care enough about me to see if I'm alright, then he doesn't care about helping me fix my problems. That sort of reasoning lead to a second session skipped. Coward. Coward, coward, coward.

While I didn't go to therapy, I did take a trip to Saint George with my ward. A great many things about one's personality can be revealed on the face of an immovable mountain.

We hiked Angels Landing, a notoriously difficult climb in Zion National Park, responsible for several deaths.

(photo courtesy goldengatephoto.com)

By the second mile, I was sure they'd add my name to the Wikipedia article. Somehow, I survived. I didn't even get sunburned.

I think I have a secret fear of heigh

ts. I've always told myself otherwise, as though that could make it go away. There's something about my family- we suffer in silence (we don't use our problems to get out of things, we don't talk about our fears, we convince ourselves everything is okay, etc.). Somewhere along the way I came to associate maturity with fearlessness, and so began to deny my phobias. I think I will have to admit, however, that I kept envisioning my dramatic plunge from the 1500-foot-high ledge and the horrifically abrupt end to that fall. Pretty sure that qualifies as a fear of heights.

I'm learning to accept myself. I may be afraid of falling, but that hasn't stopped me from dragging myself up the mountain by chain. I did it, after all. I wasn't even that far behind the group on the way back down. I think it's okay to be a little freaked out sometimes, so long as I don't let these things take over.

That night (Friday, in case you're still keeping track) I attended a wedding reception for my mom's best friend's youngest daughter.

I missed her so much, maybe more than I have yet this year. It was odd to be saturated in loneliness, to be so full of an emptiness, especially surrounded by all those people. It wasn't so much that she wasn't there that day as it was that she won't be there when it's my turn. There is now a finite supply of letters, of handwriting samples; of pictures of the two of us; of memories and experiences; of hugs; of inside jokes. Those few moments at the reception illuminated my future, and made my mother's absence more real to me than it has been in the year and a half since her death.

I haven't done much since I got home, except make a few spectacular meals and dejunk my life. while I was going through the stuff in my bucket, I had a "The Letter That Never Came" moment. I found a postcard from my mom. Inscribed on it is a hope that I will get married in the temple, an expression of gratitude for caring for my dad while my mom is away, and and a little shot of encouragement by way of "I'm proud of you." She couldn't have planned it better- I must have received that postcard when I was 8 and my mom was visiting friends in Salt Lake for a week. I should frame it. Put it next to her picture on my dresser.

Lou got me out of the house today, and not a moment too soon. We wasted a trip to Salt Lake (Sam Weller closes at 6. Who knew?), then puttered around Provo for two hours. Sherlock Holmes is funny, but awkward people make it just a tad hard to watch.

I love the way the cottonwood tufts dance on the air, then when they tire, collect in the grass and in the corners of the porch.

We have purple tulips in the front yard, hovering on the verge of wilt. I think I'll take them to my mom's headstone tomorrow. It's a lovely, lovely spring (I'm not ashamed to admit that I just started A Series of Unfortunate Events for the second time in a row. Jude Law is S U P E R attractive, even in voice over and silhouette, and it's a great catharsis movie).

~~~

Recorded 5/20/10

Briefly

I was cast as the nurse in Romeo and Juliet!

Whoo!

This is my first real part in a Shakespeare show, it's kind of a huge deal to me, and I couldn't be more excited! My therapist will be happy to hear that I have something to work toward. I'm SO HAPPY that I have something to work toward. Someone thinks I'm talented! That means so much to me!

It's a-fixin' to be a good summer.

:)