Thursday, February 28, 2013


Dear Papa,

I wrote you a letter last year, on the one year anniversary of the day you died. I wrote about what was going on in my life and why I hadn't had all that much to say to you lately, I wrote about how hopeful and excited I was to start college and how I wanted be a doctor just like we would always play. Things change though, we realize things about ourselves and other people and we evolve into new versions of old memories.

Today, I'm writing you a letter and I don't have a lot in common with that girl who wrote you a letter a year ago. I have a lot more in common with the girl who didn't eat anything and wrote everyone out of her life the day you died two years ago; funny, the more things change, the more they stay the same. It's funny because it's not, and it's okay because that's just how things go sometimes. I used to love February, it used to be my favorite, but now I am always excited for it to be over. I used to love a lot of things that I don't love anymore and I used to think a lot of things I don't think anymore; but that's just what happens when we grow up, right? I wrote to you last year as a hopeful little girl, and I write to you today as a woman, hopeful but a little bit heavy hearted. And why the hell did I want to be a doctor?

I remember you though, so vividly, especially today. You were never grown up and you were never bitter and you were never jaded, not to me at least. You yelled and you got angry and you hated when we jumped over the couch and into the playroom but you were the brightest light in the darkest place. We have a lot more in common now than we did when I was six, we would be even better friends now.

I like whiskey, a lot, just like you did. I like sad, sappy movies, a lot, just like you did. I like cashews, probably more than even you did. I like telling people I love them, a lot, just like you did. I like swearing, a whole fuck of a lot, just like you did. I am too emotional and too volatile and too much of everything, but unlike you, I can keep it all locked up inside. You probably lived so long because you were free of all vaulted emotion; if this is the case, I need to start yelling more.

Is it okay to say that I hate Nanny's new house because I can't walk into the playroom and sit where you sat and see your ghost in every mirror and in every rocking chair? It still smells like you somehow, though. Is it okay to say that there are very few people on this earth that I like half as much as I like you? Is it okay to say I'm a little bit of a mess? I am and I'm saying it and I'm justifying saying it because I have great grades, I'm allowed to be a mess as long as school is great; patented Chloe life philosophy.

I miss your romanticism and your belief in people and how absurdly affectionate you could be. I miss hearing you sing my name, no one else sings the Clobird the Snowbird song, and I miss getting screamed at because I wouldn't talk to Uncle Rich on the phone. I would gladly talk to him now, whenever you wanted me to, he is even more brilliant and even more screwed up than I. I miss the way you looked at Mama and the way you talked about her and I miss you being cute to Nanny and her squawking back at you. You are all of my favorite embodiments of true love, you are all of the reasons I continue to believe magic things exist.

So it has been two years and you're still gone and we're all still here.
You're gone and we all still miss you in strange, painful ways.
You're gone and I'm just trying to build a life that makes sense, I know I can. I know you'll help.
You're gone and we're here, so keep taking care of us.

I love you to pieces Papa,


Tuesday, February 12, 2013

19 is a weird number

Today I turned 19. I thought about writing about how this is a fresh start, a new era, the beginning of adult Chloe and the end of baby Chloe. I thought about reminiscing on nineteen lost friends, nineteen great accomplishments, nineteen ridiculous mistakes. I thought about laying out a life plan, a list of goals to achieve in the next 365 days, a blueprint of my ultimate nineteenth year. Sometimes I worry I talk too much about the past & the present & not enough about the future, sometimes I worry that if I don't know where I am going, I won't like where I end up. Sometimes I worry so much that I feel it all swelling up inside of me like a balloon trying to escape for the moon. Instead of trying to define this blog post or explain it or justify it, I'm just going to say nineteen things on the day I turn nineteen. Not for you, for me. I hope, though, that whether you are a nineteen year old woman or a forty three year old man, at least one of these 19 things speaks to you.

1. Can you say it out loud? In front of an entire room of people, people you know, people you don't, your family, strangers, people who fascinate you, people who loathe you. Could you say it to them? The truth, the absolute truth of your life, the secret you've been keeping, the black hole you've been protecting. Could you stand on a podium, in front of a microphone, and bare your soul? Does it make you a bad person if you couldn't? I want to live in such a way that I can stand on the stage, in the spotlight, burning, sweating, scared shitless, and say it, no holds barred, and be proud of my truth.

2. "Those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." -Friedrich Nietzache 

3. Sometimes I think to myself, this situation is so crazy and beyond bizarro that no one else could ever possibly sympathize with this insanity. Then I tell someone and they laugh and I realize we are all completely broken & bruised & this is why we continue to fall in love with each other.

4. If the cops come, don't think about it, RUN.

5. Don't beat yourself up. You are the only friend that will be by your side, every day, every moment for your entire life. Do not abandon yourself ever, be your best friend, be the person you can count on no matter what.

6. Thinking about things usually just messes them up. Hearts are for doing, leave the thinking to the amateurs.

7. To me, I Love You is infinite. We may not be close anymore, we may not even speak, but if I once opened my heart to you, I share with you that piece of me forever. I Love You does not have an ending, everything else in life is allowed to have an ending but not I Love You. Not to me.

8. Someone is always gonna be smarter, prettier, more this, more that, better. But someone will never be you. That's where you win.

9. "You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don't make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and then do them so well that people cannot take their eyes off of you." -Maya Angelou 

10. One day, go to the Trumbull County Fair in Bazetta, Ohio and get a freshly milked milkshake from one of the fair cows. I'm not even being an ass, it will change your life. Coming from a vegan. P.S. Do not make eye contact with anyone.

11. My goal in life is to form a collection of ridiculous stories to tell my teenage children one day. Stories that make them feel better about whatever god awful nonsense they've gotten tangled up in. 

12. I also aspire to be the Tinker Bell that zip lines across Magic Kingdom every night during the fireworks.

13. Don't make promises you can't keep. Don't make wishes you don't want to come true. Don't stay up too late thinking about something you cannot change. Don't worry about what you're "supposed" to do. Don't worry about screwing up. When you want to cry, just cry, it doesn't make you stronger to hold back tears, it just makes you look like you are constipated. Do send it all up to God, it is His plan, after all. Do protect your eyelashes, eyelashes are important, they protect your eyes. Someone has got to protect your eyelashes. 

14. Cats have magical healing powers. 

15. The phrase, "If it hurts, its working," is absolutely absurd to me. SOMETHING IS PROBABLY VERY WRONG IF IT IS HURTING YOU.

16. I believe in fairy tales. I believe in happy endings. I believe that there is a magical element to the world we live in. On good days, I believe in mermaids. I have let go of a lot of pieces of myself, but, I refuse to let go of the little girl who believes in things that are impossible. 

17. I haven't broken a bone yet. I'm knocking on wood but also kind of wondering what if feels like, because I'm deranged.


19. So I'm 19 now, and this blog effectively depicts just how wayward I am. Come, let's commence in our wandering.