If You Got The Money, Honey, We Got Your Disease
I’m in a bad fucking mood.
Today was the third anniversary of my bike accident. Huh. Time flies... And my wrist still hurts every day, and I still have to hold back tears when I think of all that accident put me through and what was lost, will never be the same. I’m grateful, too, that I didn’t lose more.
Still. I could get $100,000 out of this and still feel very much wronged. How different might things be for me if he just would have checked his rear-view mirror...
As for the present day, I’m incredibly tired and beat to shit. Having only five girls working at the club on a Saturday night left me exhausted, my knees and feet are in bad shape, black and blue and skin worn away. I had not one, but two guys try to choke me out in the VIP room that night. Two older, smarmy, black men. Both did so not playfully, but with intent to scare, dominate, and hurt me. I handled both situations without incident (except losing money, whatever), but it’s left me pissed the fuck off and admittedly, afraid to dance for older black men.
So, here I get to actually experience what it’s like to travel a typical route to prejudice. Hmm. That makes me even more angry.
I’m just an asshole magnet all of a sudden. Lots of little incidents, compounding, combining with the fatigue of working a very busy and under staffed Saturday until 2:30, getting home at 3, and returning to the club exactly 8 hours later... I love my job. I LOVE getting up on that stage, even when it hurts. But damn if the sudden abundance of asshole customers hasn’t gotten to me for the mo’.
* * *
I really, really, really wish it was possible for me to just relax about food. What I wouldn’t give...
It seems like no matter what I do, no matter what strategies I employ, it’s always a source of stress, anxiety, embarrassment, guilt, etc. I feel like an alcoholic, seriously. Just with food instead. It’s a constant struggle. It’s sick... I can spend all day talking to myself about why I shouldn’t binge, how to not binge, how much better I feel when I don’t, and then be left absolutely miserable, mortified, hopeless, horrified, and terribly confused when as if I have no control over myself, a separate self that takes over, it’s happened again anyways. Sometimes I’m doing this while I’m buying too much food, while I’m eating it. I really don’t know how/why I do this to myself...
Someday, somehow, I will figure out how to conquer this once and for all. Someday I’ll manage to stay accountable and have some real self-control and kill this bizarre self-destructive behavior that I don’t understand. I can’t find any connection to the anxiety, to being happy or depressed, to much of anything, thus why the closest thing I can manage to compare it to is pure habit, addiction. I’ve managed to not do it for months at a time in the past, but, sooner or later I always “relapse”. SO stupid. So very, very stupid, this disordered eating non-sense. There’s never any middle ground for me. I’m either binging, starving, purging, or managing my eating fiercely, obsessively. Is that really the only, the best, alternative I have? All or nothing? That sucks. I hate it. And I can’t even seem to do that for long, either.
Ugh. I keep failing. But, I keep trying. Today I managed.
* * *
Funny. I hardly know you, at least compared to a great deal of other people in this world. And yet my body sings even when you’re just in the same room and my blood simmers at even the thought of someone trying to insult you and your character. I’ve never been so attracted to someone. Yeah. It’s easily true. Notice the word choice.
Silliness. All of it. And I love it.
And I don’t know that not caring has ever paid off so well for me. At least not so far. Just, please oh please oh please, let it be real. It doesn’t have to be anything more than it is. It doesn’t ever have to be more than this. It can even fade away, I’ve already accepted this. Just, please. Let it be real.
How exactly does a movie and a few beers on a couch with you turn into one of the best nights in recent memory? Or having an epic battle on your roof? Or finishing off your 40 of Olde English while watching Louie? Creepy. Sometimes, most of the time, I can’t get over you. So there, take that. And the best part? Almost every night it’s either even better or a tough call. Yeah. That too. The best... I’m having so much fun with him that sometimes I forget to be afraid of him.
He’s been doing some photography for epiem at Contour on Thursdays, which means he’s been getting shots of me, in abundance. Last night he showed me one he picked out and polished up. It was so sweet... I’m not sure exactly why that gets me. I think because pictures have become a sort of part of our relationship via the way things have come together. There’s the various ways we’ve stalked each other’s pictures on Facebook (Which is really how all this started. I saw him, and thought “Holy fuck that man’s gorgeous....oh for fucks sake, he’s that young?!?!” and I promptly started avoiding when Micah would invite me over. Heh. Some good that did.) Then of course there’s just the fact that I’m vain in such an odd way and love when I come by good pictures of myself. And then to see how he polished this one up... For all I know it took him all of ten seconds and little to no thought, but, I thought it looked amazing, a ridiculously cute shot, not my typical glamourpuss pose or big goofy faux super model smile, that he picked out and thoughtfully decided how to manipulate, what colors to emphasize and which ones to subdue. I guess it’s almost like if someone took the time to sketch you. So flattered...
* * *
Apparently, having money stresses me out just as much as not having money. Because the thought of this windfall that’s coming my way to try and compensate for my permanently ruined wrist is blowing my mind. I think, that I am currently the most financially well off I’ve *ever* been. My savings are steady, and my pocket money too. Plus, my writing money that I haven’t touched and like to forget about. And this still pales in comparison to how much I’m about to have.
Should I even be telling people this? I’m so used to and always wanting to just share as much as possible with as many as possible. I worry that people will expect certain things of me, or regard my bizarre frugality with fits of wild abandon with greater scrutiny and ridicule. Because frankly, you could give me $500,000 right now, and I would STILL feel a bit broke and like I needed to be super careful with my money. It’s just the way I’ve always lived. Always. And no, I’m not getting that much money. After taxes and all my lawyer’s fees I believe I will end up with about the equivalent of a full years wages at my old job at Holland America Line.
That vacation I keep talking about? It’s happening. I don’t know where, I don’t know when, I don’t know with whom. I know pretty much exactly what I’d like to do, but I’m not sure what’s best.
Think think think.
Today was the third anniversary of my bike accident. Huh. Time flies... And my wrist still hurts every day, and I still have to hold back tears when I think of all that accident put me through and what was lost, will never be the same. I’m grateful, too, that I didn’t lose more.
Still. I could get $100,000 out of this and still feel very much wronged. How different might things be for me if he just would have checked his rear-view mirror...
As for the present day, I’m incredibly tired and beat to shit. Having only five girls working at the club on a Saturday night left me exhausted, my knees and feet are in bad shape, black and blue and skin worn away. I had not one, but two guys try to choke me out in the VIP room that night. Two older, smarmy, black men. Both did so not playfully, but with intent to scare, dominate, and hurt me. I handled both situations without incident (except losing money, whatever), but it’s left me pissed the fuck off and admittedly, afraid to dance for older black men.
So, here I get to actually experience what it’s like to travel a typical route to prejudice. Hmm. That makes me even more angry.
I’m just an asshole magnet all of a sudden. Lots of little incidents, compounding, combining with the fatigue of working a very busy and under staffed Saturday until 2:30, getting home at 3, and returning to the club exactly 8 hours later... I love my job. I LOVE getting up on that stage, even when it hurts. But damn if the sudden abundance of asshole customers hasn’t gotten to me for the mo’.
* * *
I really, really, really wish it was possible for me to just relax about food. What I wouldn’t give...
It seems like no matter what I do, no matter what strategies I employ, it’s always a source of stress, anxiety, embarrassment, guilt, etc. I feel like an alcoholic, seriously. Just with food instead. It’s a constant struggle. It’s sick... I can spend all day talking to myself about why I shouldn’t binge, how to not binge, how much better I feel when I don’t, and then be left absolutely miserable, mortified, hopeless, horrified, and terribly confused when as if I have no control over myself, a separate self that takes over, it’s happened again anyways. Sometimes I’m doing this while I’m buying too much food, while I’m eating it. I really don’t know how/why I do this to myself...
Someday, somehow, I will figure out how to conquer this once and for all. Someday I’ll manage to stay accountable and have some real self-control and kill this bizarre self-destructive behavior that I don’t understand. I can’t find any connection to the anxiety, to being happy or depressed, to much of anything, thus why the closest thing I can manage to compare it to is pure habit, addiction. I’ve managed to not do it for months at a time in the past, but, sooner or later I always “relapse”. SO stupid. So very, very stupid, this disordered eating non-sense. There’s never any middle ground for me. I’m either binging, starving, purging, or managing my eating fiercely, obsessively. Is that really the only, the best, alternative I have? All or nothing? That sucks. I hate it. And I can’t even seem to do that for long, either.
Ugh. I keep failing. But, I keep trying. Today I managed.
* * *
Funny. I hardly know you, at least compared to a great deal of other people in this world. And yet my body sings even when you’re just in the same room and my blood simmers at even the thought of someone trying to insult you and your character. I’ve never been so attracted to someone. Yeah. It’s easily true. Notice the word choice.
Silliness. All of it. And I love it.
And I don’t know that not caring has ever paid off so well for me. At least not so far. Just, please oh please oh please, let it be real. It doesn’t have to be anything more than it is. It doesn’t ever have to be more than this. It can even fade away, I’ve already accepted this. Just, please. Let it be real.
How exactly does a movie and a few beers on a couch with you turn into one of the best nights in recent memory? Or having an epic battle on your roof? Or finishing off your 40 of Olde English while watching Louie? Creepy. Sometimes, most of the time, I can’t get over you. So there, take that. And the best part? Almost every night it’s either even better or a tough call. Yeah. That too. The best... I’m having so much fun with him that sometimes I forget to be afraid of him.
He’s been doing some photography for epiem at Contour on Thursdays, which means he’s been getting shots of me, in abundance. Last night he showed me one he picked out and polished up. It was so sweet... I’m not sure exactly why that gets me. I think because pictures have become a sort of part of our relationship via the way things have come together. There’s the various ways we’ve stalked each other’s pictures on Facebook (Which is really how all this started. I saw him, and thought “Holy fuck that man’s gorgeous....oh for fucks sake, he’s that young?!?!” and I promptly started avoiding when Micah would invite me over. Heh. Some good that did.) Then of course there’s just the fact that I’m vain in such an odd way and love when I come by good pictures of myself. And then to see how he polished this one up... For all I know it took him all of ten seconds and little to no thought, but, I thought it looked amazing, a ridiculously cute shot, not my typical glamourpuss pose or big goofy faux super model smile, that he picked out and thoughtfully decided how to manipulate, what colors to emphasize and which ones to subdue. I guess it’s almost like if someone took the time to sketch you. So flattered...
* * *
Apparently, having money stresses me out just as much as not having money. Because the thought of this windfall that’s coming my way to try and compensate for my permanently ruined wrist is blowing my mind. I think, that I am currently the most financially well off I’ve *ever* been. My savings are steady, and my pocket money too. Plus, my writing money that I haven’t touched and like to forget about. And this still pales in comparison to how much I’m about to have.
Should I even be telling people this? I’m so used to and always wanting to just share as much as possible with as many as possible. I worry that people will expect certain things of me, or regard my bizarre frugality with fits of wild abandon with greater scrutiny and ridicule. Because frankly, you could give me $500,000 right now, and I would STILL feel a bit broke and like I needed to be super careful with my money. It’s just the way I’ve always lived. Always. And no, I’m not getting that much money. After taxes and all my lawyer’s fees I believe I will end up with about the equivalent of a full years wages at my old job at Holland America Line.
That vacation I keep talking about? It’s happening. I don’t know where, I don’t know when, I don’t know with whom. I know pretty much exactly what I’d like to do, but I’m not sure what’s best.
Think think think.