For a minute there, I lost myself ~ Radiohead
We all knew that. I am tired of talking about it and I am sure you are all tired of hearing about it.
But for a minute there I was also a writer with no pen.
The lesser known horseman of my apocalypse, Frustration. He rides a dumpy lame nag of a non descript color and she is very slow and kinda blind.
A song came on my Spotify and I am desperate for better sets to dance to so I was scrambling for pen and paper before the newly formed brain bubble burst and leaked out.
Wednesday night work was not, not great.
I had this renewed sense of hustle and higher purpose, I looked stupid cute. Did lame shows, but kept my balance and rhythm and my legs doth not protest too much during the transitions from kneeling to standing BUT the clientele was 90% coked out townies with no desire to go for dances but they all said I am SOOOOOO PRETTY. I cannot finance my fabulous future with their words, but at least I didn’t feel like a total bag of shit.
I stumbled back upon the realization that sometimes I allow my nightly income to affect how I see myself and when my period is added to the mix the results can be disastrous. But I did not cry. I logically assessed the situation and just said fuck it by the end.
I did end up reminiscing like a motherfucker that night. I had a mini audience at rapt attention.
One of the girls asked me about perdition, and the diet red bull I consumed had me both rotted of gut and loose of tongue. She specifically wanted to know about the process of firing the girls who had flown to that strange little island to work.
It was never easy, except when it was.
I waxed nostalgic about getting a split lip for firing a very aggressive girl who was terrorizing all the other girls while holding a tray. The descent down the stairs with an intact tray full of shots and my other hand cupped under my chin to catch the blood, I really liked the shirt I was wearing.
I did have a theory that there was some kind of malevolent spirit that resided in the bar who, in order to be appeased, needed a blood sacrifice on occasion. It was just my turn.
And I realized the only other 3 fights that ever happened inside the bar while I was working happened during my stage shows, except the one where I saw it coming, warned the bouncer and then walked out the door because said bouncer gave me attitude and I figured an “I told you so” would be more fun and satisfying if he got a couple shots to the head. He did. It was.
I am contemplating a Twitch account wherein I can deep dive into my strip club memories and keep them safe while simultaneously broadcasting them. I have really good stories, some you know, some you don’t. I am fairly locked in my room from noon to 4 doing stretches and bed yoga. Why not?
I am also having a hard time adjusting to the 3 song sets instead of 2 songs so I am going way back in my playbook and digging into the oldies sets. My body remembers them and I flow differently. It works, I am in a retirement town full of farmers. I realized one of the sets I picked was from a time long long ago in a city pretty far away.
I looked out into the audience once upon a time and saw 3 out of 4 men that I had slept with, during the same time period, never all at once.
Faithful readers will recall the Four Horsemen of My Apocalypse.
This second great conjunction happened probably 7 years after the first. They knew OF each other and as I climbed down from stage and got dressed, they all followed me outside for a cigarette and it did not take long for them to figure out the connection. They all teased me gently and I felt very loved, cherished and safe in that moment.
The last song in the set was 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover and we all had a good giggle about that too.
I hadn’t danced to it since then. Until Wednesday night. No such magic happened except that I smiled reminiscing about my 30 something self who was in yet another bad relationship, and for a minute got to remember what it was like to feel loved.
When I look back over my life I see many high places, many chances taken and for the most part, no regrets. Dancing has both been a part of my low self esteem, before I accepted it for what it was and myself for who I am. The highs are bookended with lows of course. Everything is cyclical. And honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My life got better when I started being honest. About who I am, what I love and the things I have done. Shame is a terrible burden to carry, it is heavy and it is really just made up of other people’s opinions of us, and like compliments at a strip club on a Wednesday, they don’t pay the bills so, pretty useless really..
I have also decided that things will get better (and are getting better) as I accept where I am and what I am doing instead of living in a future that is unpredictable at best. Yes I am holding the vision, but for a good chunk of time there, I forgot to trust the process. I am sitting in my cute attic now. My room at the girl’s house is clean and smells good at least. I have my screen grab from A Streetcar Named Desire tucked into the side of my mirror and although he was never on his knees, it pleases me. I left my crystals to charge in the window. Found some acceptable incense at the health food store and brought my sheets home to wash, next week is a new week.
This past week at work was the transition from the county’s yellow to green phase. We knew going in work was going to be hard, the clientele would be unpredictable and the extended hours were going to be exhausting. It really really was. 5 shows instead of 2 meant I was on stage doing cardio in stilettos for about an hour a night. 5pm to 2am instead of 11 or 12. The last 2 hours being the busiest of the night. I barely left my room unless it was to prep for work or go downstairs to work. I watched some movies, did bed yoga and started this article last Thursday. I needed to be nice to my body and except for a decent amount of tequila, I was.
I accepted this.
I did a mini spell and would have hit that amount, except a friend from high school showed up and I chose to chill with him and his woman instead of hustling. No regrets.
I also made zero on Wednesday, a little harder to accept, but I came home with the same amount as the week prior, so I am not mad about it. Every dollar brings me closer to my goal. I have almost stopped comparing myself to the other girls. So that is good too. I did my squats and my bed yoga. I corrected my behavior from the week prior and there is still room for improvement, but I am getting better.
Spring is coming, I can feel it. I am driving myself up this week after my MRI. One step closer to getting this silicone out of my body and time has started to move faster than the molasses of January and February.
This week was a little better than the last and I am excited for the next one and the one after that.
Now I am off to find sexy knee pads and look up this Twitch shit.