I’ve been working so much that I inadvertently killed one of my houseplants through neglect. I re-discovered it last night. I watered it and put it by the window, but I don’t think it can be revived.
I had a good day yesterday, but it’s not enough.
I might as well tell you: I am seriously considering going to work at a strip club.
I don’t know of any other way I can raise several thousand dollars in a few weeks–either to keep my place, or to move into a new one.
I’ve been seriously researching the business for a few days now.
The good news is, I’m pretty enough to do it. I thought you had to be younger than 25 and have big boobs.
The bad news is, I hate every single thing I think I know about the job. EVERYTHING. I hate the stupid clothes and stripper platform heels. I hate customer service. I hate the idea of constantly coming on hard to men I’m not attracted to. I’m not naturally flirtatious. I hate nightclubs and loud music. I hate the idea of rubbing my body on some dude and pretending that I think he’s the king of the castle. YUCK!!!
(Yeah, you could say half those things about working in professional BDSM, but it’s different. I like fetish clothes, as opposed to stripper clothes. And, even when I have sessions I dislike–which is seldom–at least it is interesting. And it’s who I am, it’s an authentic part of my personality and sexuality. I have tremendous respect and empathy for almost all of my clients.)
I know someone out there will write me and say: “Stripping! That’s degrading!”
Know what’s degrading..? Teaching your student at your apartment in the morning, and having your landlord knock on your door to demand the late fee. THAT is degrading. Happened to me this morning.
I’m really circling the drain right now.
The Surgeon would help me, but I just can’t go back to him. He would be nice to me at first. And then he would make me pay. And pay. And pay.