Analog/Dialogue

"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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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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