Your Fonder Heart

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Sunny Days

My solar vitamin reaction is fantastic. I've been smiling and enjoying. Picking up worms off the side walk and placing them in the grass. Watching basketball star help physics star carry his catapult home, for no apparent reason. Finding a dog in my garage. The inspiration for a best friend's birthday present. Being in love all the time, rather than never being in love at all. Skinny love.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Dear Catastrophe Waitress


Maybe creepy, definitely awkward, sorta sans sanity


I can make two promises that I believe are true.
WON.) I am not anything close to a stalker. Or even obsessive. Just interested.
TWO.) I feel I need to tell you what I'm going to tell you, because if I were in a position such as yours and someone else were me, I would definitely be interested (among other things) to hear such a tale.

I live in a moderately populated small city / big town near Vancouver, Canada. I work at a movie theater, and get maybe 6 customers on an average Wednesday night. So I keep myself busy. One day my manager / good friend Robyn was reading Sex Drugs and Cocoapuffs, and I proceeded to take it from her midway through my six hour Wednesday night shift. I got about half way through it before I went home that night, and finished it before Thursday morning. However, I skipped the chapter about The Real World (because I do not care and do not plan on caring any time soon) and on basketball (because I am disinterested). Then I borrowed Chuck Klosterman IV from her, only because it seemed logical to read what else you've got. I liked it a hell of a lot more than Sex, Drugs, and Cocoapuffs.
My favourite part, ever:
"It seems like we talk about girls and love all afternoon, and the conversation was excellent - there was very little small talk, it was almost all "big talk."" (page 163). I avoid small talk at (almost) all costs, so this seemed deliriously suitable for me.
Ok, now for what this is really about. While I was reading these books, I probably told the aforementioned Robyn (a very crude, hilarious, condescending jerk, with a brilliantly vibrant laugh) that I might enjoy these books more were I not stoned senseless on all sorts of prescription drugs (I was reading A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas just after I had surgery), and also if Chuck Klosterman was more of a Robert Redford-esque sex bomb.
I hate dreaming, I hate the ambiguity of the potential meanings and interpretations, although they are probably nonsensical, I always make too much of them.
[Interrupting myself to mention that I didn't expect this to be so long, and I apologize if you find this completely dull.]
About a week ago I had a dream in which you came to see a movie at my theater. The next scene, you were sleeping on a mattress in the middle of (presumably) your floor. I was sitting on the edge of said sleeping pad. Next scene: we're walking down a street. Next: you're driving a mini van down the same street, and I'm riding shot gun, playing role of napkin-passer and DJ. We were probably listening to the Life Aquatic OST, because I'm certain the weather was perfect for that. Next scene, you pull into a church parking lot and speak in a foreign language to a man named Brad Jersak, which is actually the father of a pal of mine. This part weirds me out, in retrospect. Next scene, we're at a funeral reception. Next scene, we're standing at a crowded cross walk.
The end.
Just like that.
And ever since then, I've totally had the hots for you.
The next time I read the Great Gatsby, and think of the movie, and think of Robert Redford, I'll think about how much better it would be if he reached a Chuck Kloserman-esque level of sexy.

Sincerely, Stephanie Herbert.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

this heart's on fire


your expressions
your sentiments
your feelings
your words
your love
your life

contrived

Monday, May 12, 2008

Mind the gap (between heart and soul)


You know when they say "it hurts in places I never knew could hurt"? Those places hurt all the time. It's the places that are meant to hurt that I can't feel, or I feel like I can't feel them, sometimes they hurt even more then the non-places that always hurt, but it feels like way too much hurt for one person to bear by herself, it's a feeling of sadness, a constant melancholy, an invariable despondency that contaminates the marrow of my soul. I feel sad, all the time.

Quote:
Bright eyes to bat and hide behind.. just for show

-Matthew Good