Dear Chloe,

Even good kids can hurt their parents deeply without realizing it. It feels terrible to realize. I feel like shit knowing how hurtful I am to my mom. This woman who is, literally, living for you and your brother, and you're so disdainful. Still, she is infinitely the better person for taking it and knowing you're just a child. It doesn't make it sting any less, she's just that much more the grown up. Forgive yourself and do your best to be kind. It's all you can do. It really is all there is to the world.

It's okay to be disingenuous now too, to an extent. You're 18 years old, nearly 19. That's the very beginning of life. Kids are naturally themselves- they don't know any different. You're still growing up and finding the many different people you could be. It's okay to find some of them aren't a good fit for you. There's time to settle into yourself. Again, be kind, and you'll come to like grown up Chloe. There's a lot of natural potential there, so don't worry too hard. Really, all the amazing people in your life are there because you're pretty cool too. Of all the people in your life, you probably think the least of yourself, which is something, considering how much you show off. :P A good remedy for that would be good old fashioned work. Things do come naturally to you, and it's certainly a gift. But barely acceptable work doesn't cut it. Honest to goodness, you're only truly exceptional when you work, and knowing that you can and have done great things tends to alleviate personal anxieties. Yes, there isn't one grand goal to work towards right now, but that's no excuse. The person you want to be is a good role model, is someone you'd want to respect. That person is responsible and does a good job- no more half-assing things. The ability is there. If you want to play guitar, do it. If you want to know how to sew, spend time applying yourself. "It takes time and effort." All important things do. You shouldn't be proud of anything that took less than twenty minutes. Unless speed and quick-thinking were absolutely key.

Those are really big, generalizing claims that you can't be too sure of, being only 18 and all. The one thing I know for certain is to cool it with the boys. Yes, post-college abyss of freedom is really scary to think about, but college is not the time to figure everything out. For one, there are truly amazing opportunities you're going to miss if you try to decide things too early. Grow up a little before getting locked into things and enjoy being young in the meantime. You've been pretty good about making options for yourself when not taking advantage of everything already available. That's a quality that should stick around for a while. Let the rest of you settle down. You're an absolute stunner, it's true. Any guy who will be good for you is going to like you. Find a whole bunch of those. Experience romance and another heartbreak or two. That way you'll know what to do in case something really serious happens. Yeah, it might suck being a teenage girl for another year, but things have more weight when you're older. That's why you need to be mature in order to handle it. It'll be okay. With more pain comes more breathtaking. You live an exquisite life, just keep with the following: Be kind. Be patient. Do work. You're a good kid.

Love,
Chloe

one day makes it better

babies and philly and reading and being almost sorta on my own and responsible for myself and beautiful weather and smiles and baking a surprise birthday cake

I wish I'd been born a boy

My dad could be proud of me in the way he wants to.
My mom and I wouldn't have fought.
I would've never had to kiss Jeff.
I could've loved some girls in a way they needed.
I wouldn't have hurt so much.
I would've felt better about math and science.
I wouldn't have to bleed once a month.
I would've been able to join Boy Scouts.
I might've made a good father instead of being scared to be a mom.

Viv

One of the best and most perfect moments of friendship was when I IM'd Viv full of tears and pain of an adolescent girl, and she accidentally sent me a picture of syphilitic balls. It made me feel so so so much better and so Viv.

I want dirty music and angry sex and something that hurts.
fuck

I'm roughly certain that the pill killed my sex drive. Since going off, I've been so fond of my imagination and internet supplements. It maybe helps that things my "dood" situation has taken its first stimulating shift in nearly two years.

I'm going to listen to Ke$ha and 3OH!3 for a bit and thought it was worth announcing.

I am so unreasonably angry I am going running, but first, here is some fiction

When I woke up, my whole back itched, and the fervent dreams from the night before hadn't been so fantastical. Nearly the entire length of my spine was covered in oversized goosebumps. A cold shower calmed the need to scratch a bit, but lotion did nothing to help. I laid face down on my bed to air-dry the damp before putting on a shirt. Some of the bumps were red where angry pink lines had been carelessly drawn by my nails. I spent the day and another night in irritable spirits, sleeping and having nightmares.

In the morning, I refused consciousness to avoid recognizing the persistent itching. Except I wasn't itchy. My eyes opened and I jumped out of bed to check my back. Except that I didn't, because I was stuck in the shredded fabric of my former sheets. I screamed. The entirety of my back was covered in short, pointed bristles. The dung beetle of the metamorphosis hadn't been so terrified to wake up a dung beetle as I was to wake up a porcupine. And he wasn't expected to get a summer job. Those were poor choices for a first mental response, but I've always been a little prone to denial. I called my dad before any attempts at reaching a doctor. I was embarrassed, but scared, and that cut through his disbelief. I wasn't in much pain, but he advised that I take some advil and stay put until he got home. I googled for med reports of something similar happening, but empty-handed settled on the wikipedia article for porcupines. They're the third largest rodent, and the "porc" of porcupine is from the French word for pig. Great. I took a furtive pull at one of the lower quills. Definitely connected to nerves. I wondered if it was communicable and that I should probably call my mom. She'd be upset it'd taken so long for me to think of calling her.

Today

Useless Post

In the here and right now of my room back (at?) home, I am Chloe. At a show in West Chester where I am intimidated and making awkward small talk with people whose names I can't quite remember, I am also Chloe. At Temple University or texting other students from that great institution, I am Chloe. When I go to church on a Sunday morning, whether the denomination is Catholic or Baptist, I am still Chloe.

Context does have a large influence on who I am moment to moment, but that's due to my changing reactions, not an underlying change.

If I can't articulate what has changed, and I'm not sure what all I have changed from, and I still manage to function pretty well, then it probably doesn't matter. What probably does matter is a realistic and thorough look at my present, and what that may mean for my future.

What Do I Want

I want to fall in love again, but I suspect that is a fickle notion brought about by feelings of summertime and my recent reading material. Everything Matters! was a good recommendation from Dan, and revitalized a little hero worship for my dad. Both that sentiment and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance have made me question my definition of masculine and what I look for in a guy. It's a good complement to my recent self-probing on what it means to be feminine. I've determined that on a day to day basis, the kinds of guys I want to date are different from the ones I'd spend the rest of my life with, and that I don't want to get hurt by wasting my time with incompatible people. I still fall infatuated by talent, though. Such is life, and boys and girls have always had such a sad time with each other. My lack of emotion has prevented any worthwhile attachments recently, to more or less anything. (Though I've been crying a lot lately for not feeling much.) I'd like for some passion to externally direct who I should become, but there is still nothing that I'd be satisfied doing for eight hours a day. I need the variation, and maybe a kick in the pants. I'm going to call Tyler's admissions on Monday and ask about their Bachelor of Arts in Art. It's an almost redundant degree, but complements a liberal arts degree and would give me that creative outlet I've been missing. We'll see. I've got some basic sketches for upcoming projects, and maybe I should write. I started journaling again. Summer is good for that, as is this notebook meant for Italy- Steve did a good job with it. I'm going to read for a bit more. Mom and I are going to the 12 o'clock service at Holy Child, and she wants me to wear the white dress we got around Easter, so in the morning I'll be shaving for Jesus.

It Sets In

I saw Matt's status today, that his phone is out of commission, so I purposefully checked Jamie's Facebook allusions. "Rome is calling, dare I answer?"

When I applied for the program, I entertained the thought of posting a status, "...is going to Italy." or some such sentiment. Still, my fear of embarrassment held off until I was actually accepted into the program, prompting a more excited, "IS GOING TO ITALY!!!!" There were multiple exclamation points.

I really am glad to be in the GVal this summer. I learned how to talk to people and not be intimidated while I was away, so I'm going to have my life on better terms and with good people. It'll even be a little more wild to try to make up for not being away, but ultimately just another suburban summer.

I won't drink. I won't wear make up every day. I won't get my hair cut short. I won't fuck strangers. I won't go to a nude beach and feel glamorous. I won't try new food. I won't have traveled to Europe. I won't have been responsible for myself in a foreign city. I won't have cried in public over the majesty of human achievement. I won't be scared, though likely still lonely. I won't buy fresh food from a market. I won't cook my own meals. I won't visit my Dutch family. I won't travel by sleeper train. I won't have dealt with jet lag. I won't be aware of cultural differences. I won't sketch and paint a gorgeous city. I won't see important monuments. I won't see famous art. I won't stay in a hostel. I won't be any more exotic at the end of this. I probably won't even get that tan.

Manifest

Chew slowly and sing often. Be silly. Be honest. Be kind. Don't judge a person based on the opinions of somebody else. Find things to laugh about. Make art and think clearly. Dim lighting is really attractive. Listen, listen, listen. Watch and observe. Talk to artists, musicians, small children and the elderly, philosophers who see the humor in their title, people who write well, and your family. Read non-fiction and sci-fi with some regularity then think about what you read. Say yes to invitations, especially ones that make you uncomfortable. Dance without alcohol. It's okay to talk to strangers. Call your friends. Hand write a letter every now and then. Drink lots of water. Go barefoot in the grass. Keep at least one plant on hand at all times. Spend some time in a hammock. Skinny dip at least once. Stargaze. Sneak out while you still have a chance. Don't wear a lot of make up. "Use sunscreen." Marvel at the fact your body is still going sometimes; there are some pretty complex systems going on that don't take a lot to stop working properly. Swim. Go to bonfires. At least make attempts to learn another language. Give and receive hugs. Kiss some nice people. Find volunteer work that means something to you. Experience laundry dried on the line. Wash dishes by hand for a period. Jump off a rope swing into a river.

It's okay to not remember these things all the time, except for the one about being kind, but it happens sometimes, so use at as a lesson for the next time.

The American Middle Class

The ampersand and the semicolon are tools to distance myself from the lower rungs of middle America.

Judgy judgy judgy. That's me at the Marcus Hook carnival, despite the fact I'd likely find a more honest reception at Chi than GV. They lost power. I saw nothing but rust and R-clips. Every ride was a scaled down and less trustworthy version of my prototype childhood carnival. Maybe it is only a change in perspective coming from age. Katie did my make up to go out. I find much more comfort wearing make up in places nobody knows me. It's like dressing up, except they don't know I'm in costume. I loved it. I felt so cute. I could've flirted with any of the tattoo'd ride operators, but instead spent my time not riding rides to observe the people around me. A little girl left her newly won goldfish on the platform of an especially loud and rattly machine. Parents and small children were prone to yelling. While the carnival is usually a summer attraction, the jail-bait in shorts did not consider that it is still very much spring time and the nights get chilly. A mom and I discussed that while waiting for our parties enjoying the Berry-Go-Round. The power outage left the "coconut shrimp" stand without power but persevering in serving cold corn dogs. Alex made an interesting investment with the "egg custard" snow cone. It wasn't bad. The night was a success.

Flight v. Invisibility

It was a busy year. It's not that things were unpleasant, but there were times I had to force myself through it. My future has always been envisioned at the tempo of my dad. He moves at a purposeful pace. I picked up so much, but nothing with meaningful quality, not even gardening. That'll take a little more devotion before it is truly a part of me. I'll take things slowly in Italy. Yes, I will learn, but it's not an attempt to learn as much as possible. My mode of ambition has been, "I want to be something." Not, "I want to become something." Whatever thing I will enjoy "becoming," that's what I should pursue in life.

The innocence of Chloe, the lack of awareness, was broken recently, and it is unsettling. I feel insecure for the first time in memory, despite the encouraging world around me. I'll move slowly and observe and listen for a bit. Purposefully.

Jesus Does a Book Tour

Last night, I buckled down to finish my criminal justice essay. I passed up an opportunity to beach party and got down to research. At midnight, Ben texted, wondering if he could take my peanuts to the "study day" celebrations. Realizing this is the last week of college, I internally screamed, "fuck this paper!" and went with them. Matt, Steve, Ben, and I hung on the beach, confused as to where the party went. We later convened with Kira, Gab, and Amaury, talked a bit, parted ways, then hung out in my room until four. Hells yeah, fuck that paper. I fell asleep with the Christmas lights on.

Last night, I went out to get noodles with TCG in place of our regular meeting. We took the Market-Frankfort from York-Dauphin because we were already at Urban Roots. Because of a series of unfortunate events, we almost missed the Reading Terminal Market, but the six minutes afforded us were enough for Kira to get a Mother's Day present. The tiny noodle place had $3 mysterious peanut noodle. They were the best noodles I've ever had in my entire life. Nan Zhou Hand Drawn Noodles at 9th and Race. Wow. Unfortunately, I had to eat them on the run, because at 6:27, I got a text reminding me of work at 6:30 down below Federal. Shit. I'm in my flip-flops, ran off too stupidly to remember Gab had all my cards and money, and am eating noodles. It was poor planning. Despite that, I finished the noodles around Market and ran (in flops), the rest of the way (~a mile and a half). I was disgustingly sweaty and warm, but I suspect that aquarobics and zumba paid off. There's no way I could've made that run beforehand. Return to TU at 9:30, I so desperately wanted to live in Philly over the summer. It was perfect warm for a tank top, and some trees had white Christmas lights in them.

"This week, a princess got married and the bad guy died."

The year went fast.
The people are good.
The work wasn't hard.
The learning was real.
The city is real.
The nights and days are real.
The friends are real.
The life is almost real.

Perpetual Dawn

I explored the Tyler galleries not thirty minutes ago with Wes and Kira. When else could it happen. I love college.
I love college.
I love college.
I love college.
My last class is Monday.

Crawling in Bed with the Birds

This morning, I had one of those nights. Something worked out for me at some point, 'cuz I have amazing friend and my role in the group is "actualizing do-gooder." Yesterday, absolutely gorgeous, I spent all free time on the beach with whatever group I would inevitably find. The last such group of the day was Ben and Steve. Within ten minutes of my setting down with them, it was proposed we investigate the rumors of animal testing in Weiss and locate the rooftop access which had been confirmed to exist. We found both. And Harry and Kira. Although we saw no actual animals, there were numerous cages and a few rat boxes on the top floors we were able to access. After much finagling, we also found the unlocked door to the roof. It was so warm and windy on the roof. Weiss is one of the tallest buildings on campus, which offered a gorgeous view of Philadelphia. I pointed out the abandoned elementary school I explored with Matt, Tom, and Emily. Harry voiced his intent to enter the Divine Lorraine. Then the boys made paper planes with inscriptions to launch off the roof. It was hipster beautiful to watch them float off. They really did look like birds.

Kira and I went to aquarobics and zumba without having dinner in between. I was a little too matchy-match with my red shirt to my face.

It gets to about 11:30, and it gets time to enact another one of my collegiate dreams: "late night beaching." Nearly all of my friends had taken part, and I'd yet to go through with it. I text up a crowd, enticing with promises of Swedish fish and peanuts. So began the night. I brought a blanket, as did Gab (fashioning hers into a cape). Her and Kira flew around the Bell Tower and saved the world. We had a venerable beach party and three pounds of peanuts to keep it going. We played "Pterodactyl" and "Animals." I was overjoyed that Sam knew "No Soap Radio." We shared history. Ben and I made the same references all night. We climbed a tree. A drunken man forcefully entered the temporary castle, and we shouted, "All hail the kind!" He later mooned us, then introduced himself. He was very nice. We also saw boobies. The cops were out full force and told us it was because of "vandals." As all the best nights do, this one ended. Gab flew off to J&H, so I ran to hug her and got a flying leap of a hug with more laughter than anything. Kira joined the hug puddle and we shook with "I can't believe this is happening. She flew into my arms." It was the purest hug I may've ever had.


And I shout and I shout and I shout.

The Weekend

in doodle

Been Awake Since 7:41AM

After tonight's text purge, I noticed the last time posted in my secret blog was September 4th of 2010. I know that capturing the actual "text" of a text is the essence, and that it's impractical to leave the electronic message on one's phone, but there is still something disconcerting about deleting the originals.

This weekend was perfect in nearly every way. There is a doodle summary on its way, but I felt so inelegant and unfeminine at nearly every turn. When I encounter guys that I like, I assume that there's no way a relationship could work out, whether personal or circumstantial reasons. It's almost chronic at this point, especially as I've been surrounded by guys in various states of infatuation. I might start wearing make up. I might become a little bit less me (independent) and a little more me (soft and accepting).

Tonight, I felt that I had a purpose and place in life; I could see for a moment what others see in me.

I don't know what I want, but it is the first time in a long time, in a very long time relative to the changes in my life, that I feel free.

The Person I Want to Be

The person that I want to be drinks a lot of lemonade and has a hammock and a garden. The person that I want to be makes eye contact and smiles at strangers on the street. The person I want to be doesn't get drunk. The person that I want to be has skydived and lived to tell the tale. The person that I want to be makes phone calls instead of texts. The person I want to be is in the inner circle of great minds, but not the spotlight. The person I want to be would make 7th grade Chloe uneasy, but proud. The person I want to be sends cards for friends' birthdays. The person I want to be has journals and binders and sketchbooks of good ideas. The person I want to be lives with a lot of sunshine and fresh air. The person I want to be doesn't drive a lot. The person I want to be laughs a lot and spends time with children. The person I want to be can't stop smiling. The person I want to be doesn't always know what's right and doesn't always do what's best, but she owns up to her mistakes and is sincerely acting for the best end. The person I want to be loves without fear. The person I want to be reads Catch-22 and Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close every so often. The person I want to be is crafty. The person I want to be is a little bit resilient. The person I want to be has a big bathtub. The person I want to be keeps a journal instead of a blog. The person I want to be is somebody I've almost become. The person I want to be is always improving.