corazon valiente

Analog/Dialogue

2006-08-15T10:47:00.000-05:00

"Time it is, hon?" she breathes in my direction. We are going to be late for the staff meeting.

I have just watched my first press conference, a spontaneous event that she was invited to last-minute this morning during my orientation. I am embarking on a new path regarding this business of social work.

I shook hands earlier with a tanned compact man, the Sheriff of our county. She tells me that in our business, playing well with others is the key to success. We are odd and out of place among the guns and dangling badges. Meaty men too big for their suits shift from right to left while the Sheriff tells cameras why this new move by the department to track Criminal Sexual Offenders through a publication that will be put out with the newspaper, complete with color picture and address, is a good move for the county. We are here to show support for this step and also reflect the power the Sheriff's Department has to put a stop to this band of violence.

I have a corner office here. I share the space with supplies and storage boxes. It's a decent set-up. I have my own computer and telephone and can stream NPR at my leisure. The only drawback is that everyone walks in here at their will to get pamphlets, t-shirts, cups or annual reports to give to visitors and funders.

It's a year, today, that I have been a resident of Soda City. I feel like I have acclimated to it well in this short time... maybe more like fallen into its open arms. It's hard to describe the constant sense of joy I feel here for so many reasons. One was driven home the other morning when I was ripped from sleep by a vivid dream.

I was back in Illinois, the house I shared with D. I had gone back to the house for a reason I couldn't identify in my dream and he was there. And he looked at me and sneered- he had such a face made for contempt. "So you came back?" he said. And I was shocked, shocked to be there, to see his face and feel his danger in my sleep and it must have shown on my own face because he said next, "Oh, don't look at me like that. I don't have time for it."

I backed out of the apartment, saying I had to get something out of my truck. I ran into the friend we had who lived there before us, he caught my arm. "Didn't you know? Didn't you know about D?" he asked. I could only shake my head and mumble, "no one told me." He cocked his head at me and said, "I'm sorry, we should have." He gave me a hug and I left, telling myself I was leaving, that I could not stay. And I woke up.

The warm body of a new love shifts next to me. "I had a bad dream." He buries his face into my neck, it's his favorite thing to do. A muffled "I'm sorry" is whispered against my skin. I can't tell him about it. Well. It's not that I can't. I don't want to. It's hard to describe the fear that can still surge through my body when I am faced with dreams like this. How rattled I am, still. But only for a few moments.

I remember where I am and what I have now and the fear slowly seeps out of me. And I am grateful for this new life, this lush adventure.

To you, to me, to us.

2006-08-07T21:49:00.000-05:00

Me: Do you think anyone else has more fun than us?

Him: I'm beginning to think that it's not possible.

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Don't Give Up on Me

2006-07-08T10:40:00.000-05:00

This summer has been a whirlwind. Like an explosion, like something I forgot could happen to me. For this first time in my life, I have a boyfriend who thinks I'm funny. Go figure. I may have been doing things all wrong. It's possible.

I'm soaking up the Soda City summer, we've had a break in the Mint Julep heat and it's actually bearable outside. I abuse my air conditioning like no other. I blame my Florida upbringing-- I spare no expense for cool comfort.

I have met parents and friends. I have taken road trips and answered the phone and subsequent question, "What are you doing?" with "Getting ready to go out..." more often than should be allowed. It's been non-stop fun, just the way I like it.

Actually, getting ready to head out again. I'll be back, soon.

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we. are. electric.

2006-05-29T12:13:00.000-05:00

Me: How did you get to be so tender?
Him: I've stewing in my own juices.
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67 day sentence

2006-05-28T10:26:00.000-05:00

I got out of prison May 5. At least this is what everyone tells everyone else. Never underestimate the value of shock. I completed every day of that internship. It was strange, only in the last few months did I finally get into a groove of feeling useful. I had sort of become a semi-permanent fixture at the prison. More inmates knew who I was and what I did. Mostly, I was just told I should be in clothing commercials. One hot South Carolina day, I wore a sparkly full circle skirt and a woman said to me, "I see you've been raiding my closet again. That's okay, just leave the key under the mat." They are an interesting bunch behind those bars and fences. It was a hard year, a year that I will not easily let loose from memory.

I am caught in limbo. We have to make choices in the program, choices that require words like macro and micro to describe them. More division where none should exist, I am firm believer of being on the same team. I have chosen the macro variety. This means I am more interested in work at the legislative level, policy change and agency and community organization. Micro means you work directly with people, providing them the services like counseling and advocacy on the individual scale. I have been doing that as long as I have been employed. The small work, which is what micro connotes. I am good at it. It's what I have known for so long. I feel like I turning my back on what I am good at in exchange for what I want. Even in that sentence I recognize the confusion. Should I venture into something I know nothing about, realizing it could possibly be something I fail at when I know I have solid skills in something else, but it's not where I want to be. I have found that I don't have the patience for long term counseling and I honestly am getting less and less tolerant of being voiceless in my own places of work. I want to be in charge. I want to make the decisions. Maybe it's selfish and grandiose. Maybe it's the only way I can start the revolution I keep talking about.

I left my women at the prison in the hands of their original counselor. When I told them who they would be going to, they all said they'd be fine from now on. It didn't seem like a year when I left. The weeks and months I spent there didn't seem to add up. Is this what it feels like to be institutionalized? Your time just slipping by until it all melts together and you can't remember any day but your last? I remember some rough ones. I remember the day when I had to listen to a woman have 14 consecutive seizures outside my door and no one would move her because they were all busy and afraid to move someone in the middle of seizing.

That same day, it was a warzone on my building. Someone had gotten a razor. I had never seen so much blood, fear and desperation. I was the only counselor in an office at the time. I spent the rest of the afternoon doing damage control. No one died. Just seriously injured. Because she wanted to be near her girlfriend who was on lock-up. They offered me a job after that day. I only said thank you.

Being out of prison has been good. But the experience is something I will always carry with me. My clients were amazing and had truly come a distance by the time I had to go. I felt solid in leaving them but also guilty. Though I think they have the skills to handle themselves, if they don't get distracted. Among other things.

Lately, life is ridiculously good. I have just moved into a new apartment. A small second floor hardwood delight, nestled into a grove my favorite thing about the south: magnolia trees. It is like a jungle and my room has two windows I can't wait to look out of when it rains. A new roommate will be joining me in August and together, our closets will take over Soda City.

Recently I was involved in this conversation:

Them: So. Chloe. What instruments do you play?
Me: Uhh...hhahaa... None.
Them: Wrong answer. What instruments do you play?
Me: Uhm.. xylophone? Kazoo?
Them: Yes! Wanna be in our band?

This summer is going to be phenomenal.

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good idea, but not mine

2006-04-25T09:28:00.000-05:00

Borrowed from one of my favorites in the joint. She is way smarter than I are. So without further ado, text messages stored in my cell phone:

Baby, the world over luvs u

Man, i wouldn't make out with some guy just b/c he claimed the lion was asleep

Sanding bondo in athens. hope you're well.

Just act natural. Like it's cool 2 borrow books on vampire sex

I sometimes wish i were an artist. They seem 2 get a lot of tail

Baby, ur soul mate hott

I got candy and jewlry

I'm reading your journal and realizing y i think i will never get over my fascination of u

2/3s of a pictcher b4 class was prob a mistake

You are a black box will call hooters sound good?

U're face is perfect

U make me laugh hardcore

Oh man. Chlo and mara world is great. So Funnest. Talk to you soon.

I totally heard it. Btw, its unanimous ur the best dj

Good night 2 the most beautiful girl in the world,

That's the lamest response ever. I hope u did that over the shoulder of someone u were making out w/ hardcore

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shameless self promotion

2006-04-05T10:04:00.000-05:00

So this week is the Fundraising Week for the radio station a USC. WUSC, if you will.

My show is Saturday mornings, from 4 a.m. until 7 a.m. (Easten Time) I affectionately call it The Jewelbox. I play everything I can get my hands on: americana, electronica, rock, indie, world, jazz, hip hop, local bands-- we have a great library!

You can webcast it at wusc.sc.edu. I know this is at the zombie hour but I also know some of you stay up late or utilize your insomnia to your advantage. You can also instant message me then at wusconair-- exciting!!!

If you donate, you will get mad DIY love from WUSC in the form of buttons, stickers and a limited edition WUSC cup and you will also be a personal hero of mine plus other awesome gifts depending on your donation amount-- everything is handmade by the DJs. We pick the music we play because we love it and I am so lucky to be a part of this community.

Donation info: We take credit cards (preferred) but checks are also welcome. All the information is available on our site, should also include the phone number if you want to call in and make a donation but you can also do so online.

Thanks for listening.

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it's a hit

2006-03-15T15:14:00.000-05:00

Setting: interior of ICS building, prison, Southern United States, a trauma group has just finished it's session.

Inmate: Ms. Hanson, can I ask you a question?

Ms. Hanson: Sure.

Inmate: Well... It's kinda personal...

Ms. Hanson: Uhh... I'll do my best....

Inmate: What's your favorite clothing store? Like, where do you shop?

Ms. Hanson: (laughs) Well, the majority of this outfit came from a store in Chicago called H & M.

Inmate: Because it's unanimous on the compound. You can dress.

(Sister used the word unanimous. I love it.)

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2006-03-15T09:59:00.000-05:00

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Been so busy. Busy going to school, doing homework, avoiding homework, DJing, reading, writing, laughing, drinking, shopping, travelling, visiting, crocheting, hanging out, eating, texting, waiting, sleeping, planning, looking, learning, talking, exploring, driving, riding, interviewing, remembering, walking, dancing.

It's a beautifully glittery day in Soda City. There were round fat robins all over on my way to the computer lab this morning, their red chests full and brilliant.

I spent the last few days in the Chicago-land area visiting friends. It was so interesting to be back in the midwest, almost 9 months since I left it. The landscape was bleak, in the midst of the season change to spring- still nothing green. It was rainy and surprising warm (well, as warm as March in the midwest gets) for the most part- which was good for me because I have returned to my southern roots and get all cold really easily.

Catie picked me up at the airport Wednesday night after my flight had been delayed 3 hours due to the rain and general O'Hare wackiness. We circled the airport for too long and I have never heard a sweeter sound than the release of landing gear in my life. I am not cut out for planes. It's not the flying that bothers me really, I think it's the small spaces and the total lack of ability to entertain myself on a plane on the way to my destination because I JUST WANT TO BE THERE NOW. And it's not like I don't bring toys and things to do- I would just rather not. I spend time wishing I had teleported and was there already, commencing with the fun.

Spent Thursday back in Woodstock, visiting the courthouse and co-workers, had a drinking lunch with Ginger which I don't understand why I don't do more often. First question out of almost everyone's mouth, "Do you have a boyfriend?" Followed closely by "Are you dating anyone?" No and no. I've been busy. Y'know. With things.

Friday Catie and I went shopping at one of the largest malls in the northern hemispere. One of our most favorite things to do. I've missed shopping with her. Such a good team. Went to stay with Julia and stuffed ourselves with stuffed pizza before going back out to the piano bar we test drove the last time the Lady Squad took on the town. Strangely enough, we ran into the same golden men we met the year before where they let us stroke their ego by accepting the drinks they bought us. I even danced to a tune with some guy who claimed to be a podiatrist. He claimed to be a lot of things. Fashionable was not one of them: white sport coat and cowboy boots? I'll dance anytime, though.

Saturday we had the best breakfast at a quirky little joint. I don't care what anyone says, goat cheese is my favorite. Spent the afternoon exploring little shops, wearing huge earrings and trying on vintage clothes. I found 2 dresses that soothe my current obsession of long sleeved mini dresses: 70s print polyester and almost scandalously short. Overt party dresses.

I was then whisked away by Mara to descend upon Chicago where everyone was celebrating St. Patty's day early. Never underestimate the power of a short dress. It's been a long time since I have found myself on the recieving end of one. What? You know what I mean. Danced to a fun coverband at a bar seemingly run by the Russian mafia. Got up early the next morning, and sat slightly hung over in the airport and hoped for a better flight home. I miss my friends. I'll see them again.

Going to Savannah, GA this weekend for St. Patrick's day with a herd of social work ladies... If we don't come back it's because we're in jail.

for a moment

2006-02-08T10:11:00.000-05:00

I fell in love, if only for a moment, in the middle of January. It was beautiful but short-lived.

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Street lights always burn out whenever I go by

2006-01-18T13:51:00.000-05:00

I had lunch today with Amanda Plummer's character from the The Fisher King. It was fascinating to watch her out of the corner of my eye; hunched over her paper, cheeks bulging with food, head down. She blew her nose loudly twice and became a characticture. Too bad we weren't eating dim sum and reading romance novels...

Been listening a lot to some really bare music. Just men and guitars. Words like bones poking through skin. Their poetry has been intoxicating to me lately.

I always wonder what it takes. To be seen with those kind of eyes- those eyes that seem to see so clearly, everything is radiant and stark at the same time. Passionate and banal- but treasured because you have that vision. Where you become the sweet in the bitter, to be caught in the wake of someone who thrives by creating. To have a life with that person...

Sometimes I think I have eyes like those-- doesn't anyone want me to see them like that? I think we all hunger for that, wanting to be a part of someone's piece, their inspiration, their muse.

I grew up with an artist. I have been the subject of paintings. I know how it feels and let me tell you: it goes right to your head.

A friend's boyfriend wrote a song about me in college and performed it at an open mic night where I nervously read my freshman poetry. Heady.

Things like that. I think it's like a drug because we are suddenly given a bigger meaning than just existing in our own life, than just being two-dimensional. We are made visible, hinting that there may be more to us than what is there. The art in us is brought to light.

As an occasional artist, I know the allure. I am always looking for volunteers and I am constantly stunned when no one raises their hand.

It's like this

2006-01-07T13:09:00.000-05:00

Some days I can handle the animalistic wailing that seems ongoing. The slamming of doors, the frequent outbursts and demands for someone else to be more punished than they already are, the causing of drama in a place that is so void of anything, so monotonous that anything is a welcome change to the hourly cigarette breaks, cleaning, miserable meals, counseling and groups. Sometimes when I walk to my office the yard smells like the State Fair, other times it smells like someone has been storing onions in their armpits, these all emanate from the cafeteria...

Other days, I am haunted. Haunted by the screams, the cacophony of angry pent up women, the banging and the slamming. I am able to read through it for the most part, I don't get used it, I just get through it. I did a lot of my homework at the prison and just barely missed a 4.0 this semester. Bragging, I know. Just let me.

"I don't know how you do what you do."

I hear this a lot. Mostly I heard it from friends over break. They ask me, curious, "what's your work like?" "How do you do that?" "I could never do what you do." It comes one of two ways, a sort of I-should-be-doing-more way or a sort of mystified by my apparent masochistic tendencies way. (You should talk to the girl in my program who works at Hospice...) I understand this, I walk that line myself daily. Not everyone can do the prison thing. Some days I don't think I can. I tell them what work is like. Sometimes it's magical, sometimes you see a light in eyes that have been dead from abuse and fear. Sometimes these women come together and support each other and offer insight they didn't know they had the strength and knowledge to conjure. I got 2 Christmas cards from inmates this year. One from one of my clients and one from the woman who gave me flowers for my office that day.

Other times I have to lay my head on my steering wheel and fight back tears before I can bear being buzzed through the 2 sets of doors to surrender my license and get my key and badge. Other times I just sit in my office and look out the window, feeling helpless and stupid. Sometimes I forget to listen 100% when they are talking, sometimes I don't try as hard or don't
know how to work with someone and just say things to see what happens next. My brand of counseling is experimental to say the least. I know what not to do and I don't do those things, lest you be worried I am sending someone down a destructive and unhealthy path.

Sometimes you just do what you have to do. They gave me this assignment and quitting is rarely an option for me. It's hard, it's fucking hard. But I like it that way, too. I like the challenge more than I want to admit. Okay, maybe not. I don't do what I do to make anyone feel like they are doing less, everyone has their gifts and there are a plethora of talents my friends have that I am ever fascinated by and in awe of and I generally get to reap the benefits of those talents and gifts on a regular basis for which I am eternally grateful.

I just do it. That's all. It's what I know how to do. I also know that I cannot work in the prison system for a career, at least not at the level of counselor. If I were to work there, I would have to be in a position to make more decisions on behalf on the staff and inmates. I would have to be
the warden. And that just sounds creepy to me.

I have an interview in 2 weeks at another agency for my placement for next year. This agency works to effect policy change and lobbies for rights of domestic violence and sexual assualt victims. I am totally interested in this process and seeing how an agency is run on the grand scale.

But until then, I continue to go to prison every Thursday and Friday. And you're right, it's still funny.

2005-12-29T13:56:00.000-05:00

So, when I got home for Christmas about a month ago (seriously, it was like December 9th...) I got a new haircut. She gave me Aeon Flux hair which is far superior to the "avant garde" disaster I recieved this summer. Unfortunately, I don't have a hair tool that plugs into a molten volcano so I can't really replicate this look but it's curl-friendly as well. This is our Florida backyard. Jungletastic, isn't it?

Christmas was peaceful, it's strange being back here after establishing a life in Soda City. But I've had some good adventures and saw my friends (the 2, well now 3 that still live here). I even went ice skating! Check out how lame I am: Stef, who I was skating with, said that she saw someone break their arm last year and I freaked out about my grad student insurance and the possiblity of bone fractures and got the hell off the rink. Where's my sense of adventure? But seriously- you should have seen the way some of those kids just caromed off the wall and into people causing these massive domino pile-ups...

I have also recently re-acquainted myself with a crochet hook. Long time, no see. Surprise, surprise-- there were 2 large bags of high end yarn waiting for me to dig in that I forgot to bring with me when I moved. Talk about motivation, I had totally forgotten about a crazy stash of cashmere. Guess who's getting handmade presents next year? EVERYONE!

Been reading a lot of books, seeing a lot of movies, honing my pool skills and eating. A lot. I am ready to get back to the gym and into my flow of classes and sort of the prison. It's been a good holiday, very good. My parents continue to blow my mind with their generosity and how we always manage to have a hilarious time together. Even when we take the long way places.

I head back tomorrow to ring in the New Year, Soda City style. I have no idea what that could entail...

what?

2005-12-11T10:50:00.000-05:00

There is a place on campus called "The Horseshoe," it's a well manicured part of campus with a u-shaped sidewalk where various college admin buildings are located. There are tons of old oak trees, newly planted maples and some fairly well aged maples too-- one in particular was a brilliant orange for most of November.

But the oak trees. Anyone from the south or who has visited it will remember the oak trees- they are huge sprawling things that are great to sit under on sunny days and apparently good for other things. Something I learned recently upon a discussion with a professor about some recent racist behavior by some frat kids:

Professor: You know, a few of those trees on the Horsehoe have some history.

Me: History?

Professor: Hangin' history...

Sometimes, living in the 1st state to secede from the union is a little too creepy for me.

my standard break from life

2005-12-03T16:14:00.000-05:00

So I went home for Thanksgiving and let me say this: if you ever think that taking Amtrak is a good idea, I would like you to know that it is the antithesis of a good idea. It is a very, very bad idea, a doubleplus ungood idea, if you will. Because the train will be 3 and half hours late arriving to the station so you will have been sitting in a train station with lots of tired families and a troup of 14 year old girls who are performing at a dance competition in Orlando for 5 hours and it is 2:30 in the morning. Then when you get on the train, the nice lady you were sitting with will get off at the next stop and they will put a man who smells like formaldehyde in the seat next to you. Mr. Formaldehyde will so fully disrupt your nasal passages and hog the seat that it will be impossible to sleep so at 4 in the morning you go and sit in lounge car that is weirdly lit and frequented by strange people and cranky conductors who don't tell you when your stop is.

6 hours later, you have not slept at all and will finally get off after wrangling your things away from the formaldehyde guy because he is sprawled out all over the place and basically leap off the train while it is still moving. Then your mom will take you shopping at Target and out to lunch and your train trauma will drain away as you eat shrimp penne and try on sweaters and jackets.

However, Sunday night, you will have to get BACK on the train to go home. It will be 3 hours late AGAIN but this time the guy who sits next to you books to the lounge area so you can hog the seat. However, you can't sleep very well on anything is not a bed so you only manage about 2 hours after you study for awhile for your final that is on Tuesday. You will wake up totally dehydrated and wander down to the lounge where there will a creepy guy with a bald head and a long dangly earring who wants people to play poker with him. He has a roll of hundreds and looks like he has put heroin in his scrambled eggs since he was 12. You get your bottled water and get the heck out of there. You will finally roll into Soda City at 5 a.m. where your very awesome friend will come and pick you up and you will go home and sleep for 2 hours before your 9 o'clock class. You will feel train funky all day and your neck will hurt for the next two.

But, the fact that you had an awesome Thanksgiving where you ate a lot and laid around a howle lot and saw Prentiss, Rob and Drew and had a good time will totally and completely make up for it. Also the fact that you saw 3 movies in 5 days, all of which were freaking great, will help.

In your train hang over you will agree to go to a 2 hour jazz technique class with your friend Carter who used to dance in high school and college. You have not taken a dance class since you were maybe 9. You will make it through the first hour of warm up but upon having to complete a string of 6 turns; the names of which you can't pronounce, the teacher will freak out on the rest of the class for being slack and start crying and you and Carter will get out of there and agree to come to the hip hop class Saturday. But this will be a wash because there was only one little girl and you decide eating lunch at the Indian buffet is a far superior idea to learning hip hop moves today.

So yeah, don't take the train.

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Dear Chicago

2005-11-09T14:25:00.000-05:00

I am sorry to have missed this, http://diytrunkshow.com/, this year.

Though the upside IS being featured on the website as the booth under the car...

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Upon hanging out with the specter of death...

2005-11-06T10:31:00.000-05:00

So, one of the things I totally forgot happens at prisons. Executions. I started my Thursday with a sign on the entrance doors that read:

"There will be no visitations Friday, November 4, 2005 as there will be an execution at 6:00 p.m. on this day."

Can I tell you that this knowledge will mess you up for a few days? I don't have a lot of experience with death (except that one time, mentioned earlier, but I wasn't really paying attention so I'm not going to count it.) The only person who died that I was relatively close to I only met once. My paternal grandmother and from what I understand, she is in a better place now.

There have have been a few times in the last year where death has gotten uncomfortably close to my life and in fairly gruesome ways. It seems like I can feel it in the air sometimes. A while ago, a man who was fleeing from the police in Crystal Lake was shot because he was ramming his car into the cop cars. This happened near where Catie and I lived, down the street actually. I woke up to the news on the radio- it had happened only a few hours before my alarm went off. When I left that morning, I felt like I could sense the death in the air.

Then I moved here and about a month into school, our next door neighbor died. The family was moving and his wife and child had gone ahead to supervise the building of the new house while he stayed behind to fix up the old one for selling. He had mental health problems and a counselor he was supposed to call daily. I guess she hadn't heard from him in a few days and called the wife who called the neighbors who went next door to check on him. My roommate and his girlfriend went over as well. They came and got me when the ambulance came. He had just been put on new medication and I guess one of the rare side effects was heart failure. A few days he was in that house next to us with 2 dogs. I left before the coroner brought him out. My roommate volunteered us to take care of the dogs until arrangements for them could be made. The paramedics had to break down the door to get in. After that, we spent about a week being all weirded out and twitchy. Neither my roommate nor I slept very well at all the next few days and hanging out with Dead Guy Dogs was sort of really weird even though they were the sweetest smallest dogs ever and I got really attached but the last thing I need right now is a dog.

And now this. The execution. I can't believe something like this slipped my mind as something I would have to face. It happened Friday night at 6 p.m. At the institution next door to us. The man had been in prison for 9 years for killing 4 people at the factory (I think) he was fired from. He injured 3 others as well.

There were camera crews all over the entry to SCDC Friday afternoon and the place was crawling with cops and corrections officers. You couldn't get into the place without a badge on Friday. I don't have one since I'm just an intern. Our warden had to call down to the gate to let them know I was coming.

And it's not like I knew the inmate, he wasn't one of mine or even at my institution but I can't imagine knowing you're going to die in 10 hours. Sharing space with knowledge was overwhelming. And what do you do with that? I don't even know. Maybe everyone else is used to this there but I felt so sensitive to it...

In spite of this, I had really good days Thursday and Friday at the prison. My group is going well and my individual counseling with my caseload is skipping along. I can't help wondering if I'm getting snowed but I don't think so. It's a strange thing when someone tells you she believes God put you in her life for a reason or tell you that she owes her current success and happiness to you and God. And it's not like I did anything but listen. Just listened. That's all. I tell them it's not me who is responsible for the change-- but them. They are the ones who were open to the possiblity, who made the choice to do differently.

I think they are as overwhelmed by that concept as I am by their thanks.

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note to self:

2005-10-28T19:29:00.000-05:00

When discussing an inmate who is currently acting out in a particularly loud manner, do not refer to her as "on fire."

Because when you find out later that she's in for arson, you will feel really stupid.

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i guess we just hafta adjust

2005-10-26T12:49:00.000-05:00

It smelled like Florida today- they had drained the big fountain/reflecting pool outside the library and there was a herd of men in it wearing rubber boots and sweeping all the algae out. The sun hits that area just right at about noon and it smelled like a warm lake.

The weather has changed over night here- it's the kind of weather that makes you feel alive just walking around, where you make excuses to be outside as much as possible or have the windows open even though it gets really chilly at night. It's time for layering and scarves and boots.

I've noticed that Soda City has a limited amount of topics of conversation. They are as follows: food, the weather or drinking. The main phone calls I get are ones that involve dinner or going out. I'm starting to fall into this habit. I know all the good restaurants here and there are quite a few more that I want to try. But I've been to the best sushi place, I know an awesome little joint for breakfast where a young man plays the violin while you wait on Sundays and if you want some pimiento cheese fries, a crazy good burger or maybe a sundae- I can totally hook you up. A chicken gyro at 2 in the morning? Follow me! Excellent coffee in a cozy ambience? Right this
way!

I know the good bars- the kind you have to sneak down an alley to get to where a blue light alerts you to the martini goodness lurking inside and smooth jazz band with a fiery drummer, or if you want to try any beer possible and maybe play some trivia while you're at it-- I know that place too. I know where to catch an excellent drag show or procure massive alcohol saturated slurpees.

It's just the weather that we're having- makes you want to do these things more. I'm liking my place in Soda City, I love the joy of discovery. There's still so much I have to explore!

Another thing- people here say my name one of two ways. It's interesting that in a two syllable word, it can be pronounced with so many variations. Here are the main ones:
Kloi, like I am some obscure species of Japanese fish.
Klowee, there is a severe stress on the "w" sound, like the end of my name is really fun.

Oh- and Halloween is just around the corner. You know how I like themes when it comes to going out. I will call this one "music." I'll be spending my Saturday night with Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas, Meg White, Courtney Love, Kurt Cobain and maybe Tina Turner. Me? I'll the one in the blue dress. With the pitchfork and horns.

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Time Machine

2005-10-19T14:43:00.000-05:00

So, I was pedalling away on the stationary bike at the University gym yesterday, entrenched in a superfluously written Vogue article by a mom and her son's near death experience while they were on vacation. They were skiing in the Alps and he wiped out and tore his trachea but no one really paid attention because he felt fine until all of sudden he couldn't breath and they had to rush him to some crazy Swiss Hospital and then to France so he could recover. And now he's fine and completely recovered and living life to the fullest like any 20 year Oxford student old should.

So here's me on the bike in the gym, almost about to cry over this article about this kid and his new lease on life. He was 18 when it happened and I guess it really changed him- woke him upand now he's doing things he never would have before because he saw how short life could be.

8 years ago this month, when I was 17, I rolled a car. I was dropping off my friend Jens' boyfriend Matt after crew practice- taking the dirt roads home (because that's kind of all there is in some parts of Micanopy) and it was sort of dark but not like it really mattered- I'd been driving this stretch of road for as long as I can remember. I had the window down and I think I was listening to Live or something- just singing and driving. And I took this curve too fast and the van started to fishtail pretty wildly and I panicked and tried to correct and ended up over-correcting, sending me across the road into a chain link fence, I don't remember what I did next.
All I remember is fear, not knowing what was going to happen. I was still going straight, but I was taking out a chain link fence as I went. Then all of a sudden the van flipped over onto its roof and proceeded through more chain link fence, slowly coming to a stop. And I just hung there. From my seatbelt, upside down. The music was still playing on the radio and I couldn't get the keys out. I couldn't get out of my seatbelt because me dangling from it was disabling the release mechanism. I had to push my self off the steering wheel to relieve the strain so I could actually get out. I remember flashing my lights at passing cars. I remember no one stopping.

I got out of the van and ran to the nearest house I knew- I used to babysit for a family who lived back on these roads. I know I must have looked like a mess, totally disoriented and shaken and just attempting to tell them what had happened but probably not really even doing that. I remember running back to where I had left the van and now there were a bunch of people around, an ambulance and a firetruck. They were looking for a body because they figured, surely, the driver must have gotten thrown; the windshield had spiderwebbed in completely and most of the other windows were shattered.

I remember telling them I was the driver. They made me sit inside the firetruck. They asked me if I was okay. I remember telling them I had trouble breathing and that my lower abdomen hurt. They tried to get in touch with my parents over and over again. They could not. They had to take me to the hospital because I was a minor and they couldn't reach an adult. I was strapped to one of those accident boards and put in one of those neck stabilizer things just in case. They put and oxygen mask over my nose and tried to give me an IV of glucose but couldn't find a vein.

When we got to the hospital, I don't really remember being rolled in or moved. I remember a doctor hovering over and asking me if I had a boyfriend and what religion I was. I think he was trying to see if I was oriented?

I know that Jen and my boyfriend at the time were in the waiting room (the family I had run to called Matt who called Jen who then called my boyfriend, Chris- the Micanopy grapevine...) They had gotten there before me. The hospital was in Gainesville where they were. My parents came shortly there after. They couldn't be reached because they were out celebrating their
wedding anniversary but they had checked the messages at home-- a parent's worst nightmare.

I remember having to pee so bad and they wouldn't let me til they ran some tests. My mom told me later they were going give me a catheter but she didn't let them. I remember getting so many x-rays because of my lower abdomen hurting. Turned out I was fine, just sore from hanging from the seatbelt, I had crazy bruises for a few weeks. I remember the small cuts on my arms and legs from the broken glass.

When they finally let me out of all the straps that held me down to the accident board, I remember popping my neck and the sound it made and how the nurse jumped and Chris and Jen just said, "She does that all the time."

The Sheriff's Deputy told me he wasn't going to give me a ticket because it looked like I had done enough damage for one night. I had totalled a car and caused probably over $1000 dollars in property damage. Apparently, I wasn't the only Micanopy kid to wreck on that curve.

What strikes me the most about this memory- I don't think I was close to death. If I had my window up- things might have been a lot uglier for me and if I had my friend in the car (which would be normal but she was at a friend's house doing a paper we had due the next day) things could have been really bad; what strikes me most is that I don't remember apologizing to my parents for all the damage I caused and cost them. I don't remember being affected by this brush with danger. I don't remember it changing me or yanking me out of some youth-induced coma of thinking that I'm invincible and life is plenty long and why I should be more careful? I don't remember it making me more courageous and cautious at the same time. This is sort of
painful to think about. That I missed out on this chance- this life-changing awakening. That I wasn't as affected as I should have been, as cognizant of my actions and their effects and responsiblity to my family. I am a much safer driver now than I was then- I still get a little shakey when I take big turns and driving alone through the mountains in Tennessee from Illinois home to Florida almost gave me a panic attack.

But what I wonder the most, what was I thinking? Did I even apologize to my parents when they walked into the hospital? Wouldn't that be the first, the very first! thing out of my mouth?

I was so very sorry. Still am, even though we have long gotten over it. I think about it a lot though. Where was I-- that I wasn't moved or even aware that this is something that does not normally happen to people, is something to take stock of, time to re-assess the choices here. One could take a look at plenty of the choices in my life and wager I haven't learned much since then. I think I disagree. I am a risk taker, I know this about myself.

This also came up because one of my good friends in the program is considering transferring next semester and moving to California to go to school there so she can be with her boyfriend like their original plans but stuff happened and she ended up here- maintaining a bi-coastal 5 year relationship. Now she doesn't know what to do. So she asks me. I tell her maybe I'm not the best person to ask, I've been known to drop everything and move some place completely different just to see how things go. And sometimes they don't end up like you planned. She nods; she knows the bare minimum of my past history. I am finding myself reluctant to share here.
I'd rather just listen to everyone else. It's easier than explaining myself.

I guess the point of this that I want to be more present in my life- to really notice everything, the little things and the big glaring things. I don't want to miss out or settle either.

So maybe I have learned at least one thing...

Yeah, I bet it's not.

2005-10-14T20:13:00.000-05:00

Sitting down to eat at a new Italian restaurant, the waitress brings us some waters and starts to tell us about the specials.

"Tonight, we have Veal Champee-un, uh, Shampyon, which means in a mushroom sauce. Over cheese polenta. That's like grits, Italian grits."

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here, the kegs ride shotgun...

2005-10-12T18:17:00.000-05:00

Strapped in no less. And with its window rolled down.

Also, Columbia:

It's the Texas Tuxedo, not the South Carolina Tuxedo.

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positive tension

2005-10-08T15:35:00.000-05:00

It's the middle of the semester and everyone I know has hit the wall. The proverbial "wall." It's like I try to cram more information in my head and it just falls out. I'm tired all the time and have been developing really odd sleeping habits. It's interesting to experience school without a regulator like a full time, demanding sport. I have to actually hone my own self discipline. It's harder than it looks, let me tell you.

My clothes have been getting bigger without me. I have had to put more holes in my belts because otherwise they are just useless.

Fall is coming to the Soda City, slowly but surely. The leaves are turning and subsequently falling but the weather is sort of lagging behind. It's getting cooler at nights and I'm ready to break out the sweaters and boots. I'm jealous of the 40 degree weather Illinois is having because it means coats and scarves over the sweaters and boots.

(Side note: Soda City is, I believe, derived from the fact that Columbia is often abbreviated as just COLA.)

Prison update: It's going well and I have a waiting list for my next group which will happen Spring Semester. I am fascinated by the women there and the way they adapt to things. Such as: the prison pumice stone? Sandpaper that they snag from the workshop. They use it on their feet and elbows. They also fill empty chapstick tubes with vaseline to keep in their pockets for their hands- mostly the women who work in the kitchen and the laundry to prevent chapping. It's also amazing to me the amount of women who daily wear full faces of make-up.

Anything to make life normal.

Creepy prison thing: No one who works there drinks out of the water fountains. They flat out refuse. Makes you wonder. About a few things.

Life in the House of Men is going much better. We are all getting along and they have discovered the wealth of fashion knowledge that I am and I am routinely asked pre-date outfit questions. Should I button the top button? Should I wear an undershirt? Can I wear a black belt and shoes if my shirt is brown?

I was going to a birthday party with MSW the other weekend and I hadn't changed yet and was sort of milling around in shorts and a tank top and he asked me in a voice I can only describe as wrinkley-nosed,

"Are you going like that?"

"What do you mean, am I going like this? What's wrong with this?"

"Uhm, well..."

"I'm going to change, don't worry. But, what? You don't like this?"

"It's not that, I just know that when you go out you tend to get more dressed up, I was just wondering!"

Right. Glad we're all on the same page.

The other day I was in the shower and there was a knock on the bathroom door. It was MSW. "Chloe, I just need to grab something, is that okay?"

Are we there? We're at that point as roommates already? The can-I-come-in-the-bathroom-while-you're-in-the-shower-to-grab-my-hair-stuff point?

Oh, we are? Okay.

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wi-fi, jai alai, thigh high, oh my...

2005-09-24T14:29:00.000-05:00

So, this is my new place. Thanks, Prenna!

I'm posting from the library courtesy of wi-fi and my shiny new laptop. The library here is gargantuan, 3 stories with escalators and walls of glass. I am reifying my long-ignored library addiction. I only wish I had the time read a book that IS NOT for school. I like it here and the library cards are by far the coolest variety I have ever obtained- it has Max and some monsters dangling from trees out of the Wild Things by Maurice Sendak. Did I mention I'm currently plugged INTO my laptop and listening to music?

I'm such self contained unit.

Tonight there is a party being thrown by another SW kid, he's billing it as a "Disaster Relief Dance Party." That's just the way he rolls, I guess. He's kind of a meat head, which I find totally incongruent with social work but we've hung out a few times and dig the same music, so okay.

I keep seeing more and more things that I want to label and file away in my head as little shreds of South Carolina life that I treasure. Sub-category: grad school delights. It's been stupid hot in these here parts lately, hotter even than Florida, and walking to class results in a pinker, sweatier and more rumpled you. There are quite a few Asian students in some of my classes and one girl from Japan totally busted out an actual Japanese Fan in class for which to cool herself. I love this place.

Prison is going well, they tend to cry a lot whenever I work them. I think that's a good thing. I have to say I've never encountered a population who is divided so clearly as those hardcore committed to working on their problems and those so resistant to change.

I wore a skirt the other day and boy was that an experience. I am at women's prison, wearing a full circle skirt that comes below my knees but geez. I've never felt my fashion choices so... appreciated? And the inmates? They sure are some fans of the Dansko maryjane clogs. These are like the least sexy, most comfy shoes ever and apparently they are really appealing to women who are incarcerated. I wonder what will happen if I show up in some pointy-toe slingbacks? Dare I?

I dyed my hair. Red. Imagine less auburn and more Run, Lola, Run. I think I like it a lot and may have found the inspiration for the Halloween costume I was hedging on. I had friend put hi-lites in it last weekend and those are more hot-pinkish magenta now. Color me the punk rock kid of the College of SW. Something like that.

Tomorrow I turn 26 and my week has been pretty awesome, kicking off with a package from my mom and the rest of the days have been inundated with presents from friends and I got flowers delivered yesterday from a girlfriend! Big Van Gogh sunflowers that I put by my bed.

26, I think you just might be all right.

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2005-09-22T14:51:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the rollerchloster!