Your Fonder Heart

I am on the inside looking around. None of this "outside looking in" bull shit. I am aware of my choices and decision, I am aware of situations around me, and the effects they have, and I feel good about it all. I feel really good. Even if I am acting self-centered in my self-awareness, I still feel good. Self inspired to boot! And that's something to 'cheers' about.

I've collected all the books strewn across my bedroom that I have bookmarks in and am currently reading. They are stacked beside my bed now. -a magazine with Connor Oberst on the cover -a Zitz comic book - No Logo - Food For Though, The Vegetarian Philosophy - Vegan Sourcebook - Bright Shiny Morning - Stuff White People Like - Green For Life - Bagombo Snuffbox On my desk I have three organizers / day planners / calendars, none of which has all of my events / deadlines in it. I have Frebreeze, cat nail clippers, cat treats, rocks, four dictionaries, three thesauruses, twp water bottles, an empty juice box, an empty EA coffee mug, a stack of now-useless free movie passes, pens, two pairs of glasses, three pairs of sunglasses, a ring, a hair elastic, iPod cables, camera cords, sticky notes with very outdated information, a 'scent of mullet' air freshener, a matt good pin, an oasis pin, and an EA coffee sleeve. No wonder I can't work in this space. Now my desk is (mostly) c...

I love the coast the most. Feeling under the weather, perhaps, the sky is solid grey. I'd prefer some rain or shine. A plethora of feelings backstroking through my blood stream, unidentifiable feelings, uncategorized emotion floating through the mind of an organized person. Time to myself with some slow songs courtesy of Belle & Sebastian. Time to think about some suffering and some growing friendships. Lots of homework to do, it's time to expand my mind in a negotiated direction. You force me to go to school, I choose what I will learn. I can learn on my own, I have meters of books to read, and millions of conversations to share. Microwave another cup of coffee and tell me how you feel.

The only time I've ever been in love lasted ninety minutes, and I believe I was asleep for an hour. I was in the airport. Red eye flight. It doesn't matter where I was going. I found myself an empty boarding terminal to get some shut-eye and some peace and quiet before the catastrophe that is a fifteen hour flight. She must have been doing the same thing. I don't think I even noticed when she sat down beside me, not until she pulled my headphones out of my iPod and attached them to hers, introducing me to something Finnish and poppy. We didn't say anything. I fell asleep at this point, the left side of my face stuck to her pleather purple bomber jacket. When I woke up, she was painting my nails and humming. I asked her what colour it was supposed to be. The colour you feel when you listen to Ryan Adams in the rain. Are you intentionally trying to make me fall in love with you? Absolutely.

I have this reoccurring dream I keep meaning to tell you about, but it's just never the right time. If I told you when we were going along well, it might ruin things. If I told you when we were on the rocks, you wouldn't care. It's a dream that should be like real life, but our real life is dream like. In one version, you are a machine not a man you are meticulous and malicious. You are forward and sincere, you know I've always appreciated your sincerity. You destroy me so completely that I don't have the chance to see your back as you walk away. I don't want to wake up from these ones, they're definite and certain, always unlike myself. In another version, you are subtle, I am caught off guard. Sultry and sinister. Always achieved with subtlety and ambiguity, always left open ended. I am left wondering if it really happened, waking up in a cold fear, the fear of being alone. Waking up alone, like nobody wants to, but we always do. They are both reoccurring,...

I woke up from that sleep that comes right before the real sleep and found myself with an unexplainable thirst and an acute awareness of how dry my hands were. I spent eight hours earlier tonight with my hands under running water, the water achieving more in sixty seconds than I ever will. My skin is itching dry now, trying to remind me that it is still there, it is still a part of me, it to deserves to be taken care of. I drag myself away from my pillow and get a cup of water, I drink it and refill it, I drink it and refill it, I drink it and refill it. I have to water the roots, my roots, inside is thirsty and outside is wilting. Water is unique to our planet. I don't feel comfortable not understanding why skin dries out after washing dishes a lot, but gets soggy and expands when you're in the bath. Or why the inside of a pot lid is different than the outside, it looks like a completely different material, but it isn't. It just looks different. Is there a purpose? Is it s...

Have you got a light? Can I spend the night?