Trying to Formulate a Coherent Theory

      My landlord offered to reduce my rent if I renew my lease.  Ha!  Ha!  Do you remember what he was doing to me at this time last year?  Heck!  I don’t think I’ll ever get over it!

      I was also thinking about something…I’ll share it with you…

      I talk about my psychoanalysis on this blog.  I don’t talk about it much in my day-to-day life because it’s too private, but here, I let everything hang out.  lol

       Well, she says that I’d make an excellent sex therapist.  I guess, in a way, I already am one, right…?

       I’ve been thinking about changing careers.  Without a tenure-track position, academia just isn’t paying the bills.  I like teaching at my little community college and I never thought that I was going to end up somewhere prestigious–not a prole like me–but there’s simply no money in it.  When I say “no money,” I mean no friggin money!  Thank God for my tutoring job and my secret job, because otherwise I couldn’t live!  Do you know what I’m paid to teach my undergrads on Ye Olde Overhead Projector?  I’ll tell you.  $2100 a semester.

      $2100 A SEMESTER!

      I could teach 4 classes, it would kill me, and it would just barely cover my rent and Con-Ed bills.  I went to college for twelve fuckin years.  My apartment has more books than the New York Public Library.  And I could make as much money teaching as I could working as a cashier at the Rite-Aid drugstore on my block. 

       I should have gone to law school.  I would have made an excellent prosecutor.  Oh well. 

         I think I’m going to look into this sex therapy thing.  How does one get accredited for that?  If it’s just a Master’s program, there’s nothing to it–I could knock it out in two years.  The Master’s is easy.  I went through my program on a rocketsled and it was almost as many credits as the Ph.D. 

       School is expensive unless I get scholarships…but as long as I still have my face and figure, I have the means to make money.  My ass hurts right now.  I took a hell of a spanking from a car dealership owner from New Jersey yesterday.  I’m black and blue.  He paid me $400 for the hour.  No complaints.  

      $400.  That is what the market will bear.  My understanding is that is what it costs to hire a good-looking escort in NYC.  I got it to take a beating, and I didn’t have to undress or eat a dick.  Not that there is anything wrong with eating dicks.  God knows I’ve eaten plenty of them in my time here on earth.  Hell, I’m gobbling one from my august institution of higher learning every time I turn on the overhead projector for $0.12/hour now.  

      I’m thinking out loud here.  There has to be a way to make this work.  Too bad I can’t call on the Surgeon right now–he would be the perfect man to ask for advice.  He knows all about money and ambition.  I know nothing. 

       I’ll ask C at the Superstudio this weekend.  She is all about getting paid.  Every piece of advice she’s given me about getting paid in my Secret Job as been good.  No man walks away from her with a single dollar in his wallet.  And she makes them want to give it to her.  They love it. Me, I’m too self-effacing to be greedy.  

       These are the facts: there are a lot of rich dudes in New York, and they will pay me to have me smack them around.  They will pay me $400 an hour to beat me up. That’s where my real power in this business lays.  I am one of the best fuckin masochists in New York City.  It’s not what I went to college for, but there it is. 

      They don’t complain.  They don’t bat an eye.  They pony up.  They fuckin tip me.  They keep me around before and afterward to hang out with them.  There is a reason a cultured intellectual like Fortinbras wants me to dine at his table.  It’s not just because I have a pussy.  This guy could hire Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell to come over and defrost his steaks just by breathing on them

        I’m on to something here.  I’m sober, I’m educated, I’m honest, I’m still attractive, and I am a talented degenerate sex maniac.  If I go back to school to start a new career, dudes will pay for it.  I will earn it, and they will pay for it. 

       Maybe nobody will ever love me.  But if my experience with men tells me anything about how they experience me, it is that they will lie, cheat, and steal in order to have access to my sexuality.  I possess the price of admission.  I possess the price of admission.  

         I need to ask the men who know me for advice.  I’ll ask Heinrich.  

         I wish the Mathematician was here so that I could punch him in the face.