there are 3 general problems with the breakfast club and i don't care

Rating: 8/10 (14 April 2014)

I saw it twice all the way through: once in 2010 in a dorm room and once in 2012 at a midnight screening. I feel like I'll probably watch it again this year as another biannual keyframe of the formative years. That or I will put the VHS I bought in my dad's garage sale this month and not feel anything.
My grandma died at 72 in July. Five months later, my grandpa found his "soulmate," some lady who plays the bongos and does yoga. I ended a 3-year relationship last spring, still in love & happy with him but I got confused about who I was, where I lived and how I wanted to be kissed. My grandma seemed supernal and soft. My grandpa seems brash. They were married somewhere like 50 years. I am coping with confusion concerning loyalty, commitment, fidelity and the permanence of love. I did not see my grandpa cry at my grandma's funeral.
1. People talk along with this movie because they know the words and it feels good like it's sentimental and they laugh at the outdated dialogue that isn't funny and they decide who mirrors which character in real life. All the teen girls said I was Allison the first time I watched this movie. I hate college. But it's all part of the "experience" (so is college).
2. Everyone is upset that Andrew only likes Allison once she is wearing makeup. I think there's too much hate and cold in everyone. If love exists then let it, don't infringe on it.
3. It's about you. And everybody. Your heart will die when it gets old, but it's not for lack of trying and it has nothing to do with listlessness.
I saw the person who used to be my boyfriend on Saturday to go see The National, who have been as formative as John Hughes (at least to my heart) (I don't know how you felt from the start). I tucked my chin around my shoulder to cry because the chords and transitions sounded so nice in the bottom of my skull but for some reason not because of the emotional weight of the lyrics (it's sort of like not eating even when you're still hungry, or not looking out the window in a window seat on the train, or taking a shower when you don't need one). He left his ticket on the floor of my car but not his empty pop can, expressing only negativity for the past which mocked the nostalgia that used to grow without check. I guess I believed (thanks a lot John Hughes) that we had a "spark" unique to each other. The only word I can offer to that "spark" today is "whatever." And I can see how he got icy. You can pour enough cement on your heart and it dies. There are a billion feelings to address in a hundred different slowcore songs but you know from the place in your stomach that you shouldn't go back there, so you pour cement on your heart and it dies. Nobody is ever going to crack the concrete and that's what makes your first love superlative.
On Saturday I felt half-dead, hating rain and lightning while it got all over my window screen in the dark in my room in the corner of my bed with my nose between my knees & I didn't have the drugs to sort it out. It looked just like heaven when I got up to leave. And late last night I slept so easy. I woke up smiling and even danced while I brushed my teeth. I bought orchids for my desk at work. I realized I'm allowed to fall half-in-love with someone I've been half-in-love with all along. I deleted 20 gb of music from my iTunes library and added 30 more. The cement around my heart is concrete and I respect every dead-hearted old person, particularly my ex-boyfriend and my grandfather. If all 600 muscles in your body pulled in one direction, you could lift 25 tons. I think the heart lifts like 24 of those.
The priest, at my grandmother's funeral, with my two aunts and uncles and my parents and 2 sisters and my brother and my 5 cousins and my grandpa and I standing in a circle in the back of the church, prayed like a little anchor for all the people inside. He looked right in my eyes and I was shaking a little bit from holding in some sobs and he said "just cry." He said we have to mourn right now and confront the fear of feeling (and cry, live in salt) or else it would all come back in a more haunting way. I did let my heart die for my grandma. I guess this morning the blood is all gone from my face and if I were to crack I would collapse but I feel so comfortable in my old dead heart. In 2010 we were driving in the dark by the soccer field & the library and you said if we ever broke up then you wouldn't know what love meant and used "Say Anything" as evidence. On Saturday you weren't thinking of that drive but you said, "I don't know what love is anymore." I was pent up then but I get it now, I've seen the way that bodies lock and bodies tend to break, and I don't care if I never feel a strong feeling again whether it's good or bad. I would dance to Future Islands even with hollow limbs rather than bleed to Red House Painters forever.