(Apologies if this post seems a little scattered, the brain fog from my medication change is really kicking my ass today. I hate struggling to express myself, I really do.)
I admit it, I have a deep and driving love for So You Think You Can Dance. It's my guilty teevee pleasure, and I rarely miss an episode. I have to say, though, that the predictable-yet-uncool results of the last two shows have got me pretty pissed off.
For those not familiar with the show (or those who watch any version than the Aussie one, as I'm unsure if they follow the same format or not) the show is essentially Idol for dancers. A "top twenty" is selected by the judges, consisting of ten men and ten women. They are paired up, and then dance new choreography every week for the votes of the Australian public.
From the "top twenty" to the "top ten", the votes of the viewers determine which six dancers (three male, three female) will go before the judges, who then decide which male dancer and which female dancer out of that bottom six will be leaving that week. From the "top ten" until the finale, the decision as to who will leave is determined entirely by the votes of the viewers.
Last week was the first week that the votes of the show's viewers were the sole deciding factor in who would be leaving, with the judges no longer playing a part in the decision. Before that results show, the top ten looked like this:
The votes came in. The two dancers who received the lowest number of votes and would hence be leaving the show that night were these two:
and
Notice anything?
The following week, which was of course the second week where the verdict on who stayed and who left depended entirely on audience votes, had a bit of a twist. One of the remaining female dancers was injured, and had to leave the show. Gianne (picture above) who was the last woman to be voted off, returned in her place for one more week.
When the votes came in that Monday, the two people who received the least votes and were hence leaving the show were these two:
and
Notice anything?
In case you're still missing it, here's what the top six looks like now, posing with host Natalie Bassingthwaighte:
Nothing huge or philanthropic, I'm afraid. I just wish EVERYONE would enable the "Email me notice of new comments on this thread" option on their blogs. For serious.
As someone with a generally terrible memory occasionally made even worse by my disability or (as in right now) the side effects of going on or coming off medication, it would make my life much easier, and probably make a few bloggers think I'm less of a rude bint who leaves drive by comments and never returns.
The brain fog I've been pushing through the last few days has lead to a few surprise moments of "Oh! I've already commented on this thread. I... do not remember saying that."
I just... can't. I should have known better than to try and engage, or to continue to engage right now, when this medication change has stripped me of my spoons. I spent today so flat, struggling to maintain even "potter around house with no tasks to achieve" levels of functionality, and it's taken that thread and Anthony's final few comments to bring me to tears. I'm five days through my medication change, and it's only going to get harder from here.
I'm exhausted. Trying to argue WHY one should be treated as a full human being is exhausting at the best of times, and trying to argue it while dealing with the illness that has people arguing against you is more draining than I can convey. This is as sick as I get when I'm still arguing online... when it gets worse, I simply vanish.
This thread, and the support for Anthony's attitude on other threads, leaves me with absolutely no conviction that those rights will be advocated for while I'm away. It is a fundamental fact of the fight for disability rights that those of us who are directly affected cannot always fight for ourselves. When this is the truth, when others refuse to fight for us, and when those who claim to have our best interests at heart fight against us and refuse to acknowledge this, what hope is there of ever achieving any of the things we need?
But hey. Perhaps Anthony is right and my position that non-neurotypical people retain full human rights regardless of the severity of our conditions is just "an example of diseased thinking".
On a nicer front, this article made me smile. I love that they approached the boy using symbols and language that would reach him on his level in a time of high stress, rather than trying to force him to react as a neurotypical kid or using force and traumatising him further.
Also, the image of Spiderman rescuing a scared child on the side of a building is just awesome regardless of what the context was. In fact, if I was walking past the school and glanced up, I don't think I'd want the explanation.
This is the second time in a fortnight or so that I've ended up arguing as The Schizophrenic against commenters on Echdine's blog. This time it's gotten heated, and incredibly frustrating and upsetting. That feeling of banging your head against a wall trying to get people to acknowledge that their dismissive and othering language is not just about actual people, but about actual people they're TALKING TO, and unacceptable either way? Yeah. That.
For the record, I rarely read Anthony McCarthy's posts on that blog. I think I've read four or five of his previous posts in total. But I still knew before I'd even read past the title (The Insoluble Problem of The Rights of People With The Most Severe Mental Illness) that he was neurotypical himself.
Anyone refers to the rights of me and mine as "rights", complete with scare quotes, on the basis of our illnesses and disabilities? Discussion probably isn't going to go well. The dismissal of my voice as a member of a group I'm part of due to my functionality, or my ability to express myself, or my presence on the internet? Well, the ticky box is now full for sex worker, Indigenous Australian AND non-neurotypical person with a disability.
From one of Anthony's later comments: I didn't understand that you can't really understand how horrible this is unless you've experienced it yourself.
You and me both, guy.
Another for the record? I said it there, and I'll say it here: Anthony and his family have my condolences for my loss, and I wish his niece had had access to the treatment and support (accessible, varied, and free) that may have been able to help her.
I'm going through a hefty, scary medication adjustment over the next two weeks. My posting, commenting and reading may be affected in some way. It's all a bit of a terrifying mystery at this point.
I've been wanting to post on this for a while now. It went out on a mailing list I'm on a week or so ago, and each time I've tried to write something about it I've just found myself... overwhelmed.
The summary: Four Indigenous foster children in Western Australia were removed from their foster carer after reports she was working in a brothel. Sex work is not illegal in Western Australia. The children have apparently been handed back once she managed to prove she was not currently engaged in sex work, but they never should have been removed in the first place.
That's the bit that enrages me as a sex worker. This notion that even when our work is decriminalised, even when it's recognised that what we do is work, we're still stigmatised and held as second class citizens to the point where we're deemed inappropriate parents or carers because of our job.
Then there's the bit that enrages me as an Indigenous Australian. Foster care policy in this country states that Indigenous foster children are placed with an Indigenous relative or, failing that, a non-relative member of the Indigenous community. That whole Stolen Generation thing? Yeah. We want to avoid anything that looks like that again. Of course, the point is now being made that this case somehow proves that that entire system should be dismantled, that Indigenous foster carers for Indigenous children is an inherently flawed concept.
Because white foster carers never fail in their duties, never abuse their wards or engage in morally worrisome behaviour. FFS. Of course, when that happens, it's never considered that their race plays a part.
Do I even need to point out why it pisses me off further that a white, male archbishop of the Catholic Church is invoking the Stolen Generation as an argument for why the goal of placing Indigenous Children with Indigenous carers should be avoided?
And, again, I'm all out of words. I just can't do the 101 rant on this. I find it incredible to believe that everyone doesn't see the inherent bullshit in both of those presumptions (that a woman doing legal work is unfit to parent or care for children, and that this already questionable removal of her wards justifies dismantling the entire Indigenous foster system) on first glance.
Reassure me, people. Please.
To clarify: I do believe there are issues with Australian foster care. I do think children are placed with unsuitable carers, and have met many people who have horrible stories of their time in foster care. I do not believe these issues are restricted to Indigenous Australian foster care, and to imply otherwise is not only racist, but deliberately obtuse. Race, and this woman's potential status as a sex worker, should both be irrelevant in determining her suitability as a carer, and in determining the best placement for these children.
The same applies to any other foster child in the country.
It is inexcusable that sex work status is presumed to invalidate a person's ability to parent or to provide a safe and stable home for a child, to the point where even entering a brothel is enough to have foster children taken away from you.
My female merit badges illustrate female "rites of passage" as well as the myriad physical manipulations women undergo to achieve cultural ideals of beauty, such as weight watching, whether or not to shave or wear makeup, etc. I've created tiny replicas of female products, such as a birth control pill pack and a pregnancy test. The miniature scale and meticulous, hand-embroidered surfaces convey my impressions of growing up female in our culture.
You know, when genuine equality has been achieved for women, Indigenous Australians, people who are non-neurotypical, GLBTQI people, and a few other demographics that may or may not represent me, I'm going to have to turn my activist passion to that other persecuted minority I'm a part of.
As far as I'm concerned, the genetic theory just HAS to be correct. There is no fucking way that that stuff can taste the same way to the people who like it as it does to us people with sensible taste buds people who hate the stuff. It doesn't even smell like food. In fact, it smells like soap, garbage, and these guys. (Latter reference may only make sense to those who grew up in certain areas of the East Coast of Australia)
I'm all about tolerance of what other people do with their bodies. I don't give a damn what your choices are, as long as they don't impact mine.
I draw the line at coriander. Eat it if you MUST in the privacy of your own home, but I'm seriously considering starting some sort of campaign to stop so many restaurants and food producers lacing everything they make with the stuff. People are (probably) genetically incapable of finding your food delicious if it's full of the evil green shit. Please stop ruining every salad I buy with your stink bug flavoured garbage-soap-herb.
Summary of trainwreck: Cath posted the horribly disturbing video that's been going around of a Chicago cop beating a fifteen year old black girl. Some comments are made. Jill Brenneman shows up, points out that this is what happens to women when they're alone with police, and that this is one reason to push for decriminalisation of the sale of sexual services. She points out that that is one of the few areas in which sex workers rights advocates and anti-sex work radical feminists agree: that the sex worker should not be legally punished for selling sexual services. She also points out that CATW, an organisation supported by radical feminists, are on record congratulating Chicago police for recent actions that included the arrest of sex workers, states that she feels the words of radical feminists would have weight with CATW, and encourages the commenters at Cath's blog to write to CATW.
Then the commenters attack her for the company she keeps, insult her a bunch, RenEv shows up and... no, wait, no. No. Fuck it. Fuck that part, fuck it, I don't fucking care. It's the same fucking trainwreck we've seen again and again and again, women fighting women, and insults and venom being thrown around and the original point being completely lost. Fuck it.
I want to address those who, regardless of political stance or beliefs about sex work, agree that arresting sex workers is not and never will be a good thing for women, especially those women involved in the sex industry. I want to address those who agree that the selling of sexual services should be decriminalised, regardless of what you think should happen to those who buy them, and I want to address those who feel that CATW commenting favourably on an action that led to the arrest of women for prostitution without pushing for future actions to reject this focus. You can be the most avowedly pro-Swedish Model radfem I've ever encountered, for all I care, or the most devout fan of the sex workers rights framework in the world.
If you're against the support of action that harms women engaged in prostitution, especially by an organisation that purports to work for the rights and safety of women in prostitution, contact CATW and say so. A simple note expressing disappointment that they have added their voice in support of legal punishment for women selling sex can go a long way if enough of them are sent.
Oh, and feel free to read or not read the comment thread on the trainwreck before you do so. It doesn't really make a difference, because the comment thread has pretty much fucking nothing to do with either this issue, or with the video that made up most of the post.
The report contains similarly horrific data on the percentage of respondents to the Home Office Violence Against Women Opinion Poll who think it's acceptable for a man to beat a woman in a variety of imaginative circumstances. Good reading, if you're in a "put your head on the desk and cry for the fate of humanity" kinda mood.
I was never a 2DayFM listener. In the years I listened to enough radio to call myself a "listener" of anything, I was stuck at boarding school in the middle of rural NSW, and listening to Triple J was half ritual that defined the non-country kids as different to the country/top 40 fans, and half life line to my suddenly-yanked-away life in Sydney where attending punk and alternative gigs was a regular past time.
Still, I managed to become a fan of Wendy Harmer anyway, even though I didn't listen to her radio show. I liked what columns I read that she'd written, some of her stand-up appealed to me, and I loved her appearances on World Series Debate. Later, I became aware of her advocacy work for people with disabilities and carers, and found that admirable.
Now? After what has shown up in the news over the last two days? Not so much.
In fact, I'd go so far as to say I'm absolutely fucking furious with Wendy Fucking Harmer.
For those who haven't been paying attention to the Australian news, yet another professional sportsman has been accused of sexual assault. Brett Stewart, a rugby league player for the Manly Sea Eagles, was accused of sexually assaulting a 17 year old girl. The resulting media has been exactly what was expected by those of us jaded and angry from watching this same story play out time and again over the years by various sportsmen: victim blaming, insistence on Stewart's innocence by all sorts of people united only by the impossibility that they have any idea of his guilt or innocence, some calls for the team to stand down him down, and rabid support from sports fans defending their idol when the team inevitably refused to do so.
There's even been a classic example of Channel Nine being absolute fuckwits by airing a feature "exposing" the fact that the alleged victim's father has a criminal background, as though that is in anyway relevant, and the expected response from NSW Rape Crisis denouncing that particular "exclusive" which, while well intentioned, is of course ignored by those who lap up such televised crap.
Stewart's response, incidentally? According to the Daily Telegraph, that he was too drunk to remember whether or not he committed the assault. Yeah. That's his defence. He was charged, and finally suspended by the team, but of course continues to go about his business and train as though that didn't happen.
So. The reader may be asking at this point: What the fuck does all this have to do with Wendy Harmer?
Brett Stewart plays for the Manly Sea Eagles ("Manly", incidentally, is a place not an adjective) a team in the NRL. The Sea Eagles have a woman's supporter group, called the Eagles Angels, co-founded by Wendy Harmer and Sarah Murdoch.
"He is involved with diabetic organisations and mentors young kids, and he gets around to schools and works with youth and he gives very freely of his time," Harmer said.
"On a personal basis, we have found him very respectful, well-mannered and a humble person.
"All of the Angels I have spoken to would be pleased to give him that character reference."
Seems Brett Stewart is a really nice guy! And it's not like really nice guys who are respectful and well-mannered EVER commit rape or sexual assault, right?
Right?
Oh. Wait.
Brett Stewart might be the most lovely fellow any of you have had the fortune of encountering. He may well engage in many charitable actions, and provide services to the community. He might even convey the impression that being treated like a fucking demi-god because he's a professional athlete and sport is the closest thing Australia has to a national religion hasn't gone to his head and given him a twisted sense of his own importance and entitlement. Hell, he might even be the rare professional athlete for whom that's actually the case.
None of this in any way indicates that he is innocent of this or any other sexual assault. Get it? Nice guys can be rapists. Men you know and like can be rapists. Lovely, supportive, charitable mentors can be rapists. Professional athletes can be rapists, and it horrifies me that that seems to the bit that many of my fellow Australians are incapable of comprehending.
It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway: Brett Stewart's actions disgust me, and the 17-year-old girl in question has my support, my sympathy, and my genuine wish that our society wasn't fucked up enough to victimise her all over again by putting her through this shit. I can only imagine how awful it must be to have prominent Australian women, themselves champions of charitable organisations and role models to millions of girls, speak out in support of the guy who sexually assaulted you.
I find it hard to believe that Wendy Harmer is completely unaware of just how few rape and sexual assault charges stick in the Australian legal system, or how stacked against the mostly female accusers it is. I'm especially horrified as she claims to represent at some level people with disabilities, as women with disabilities are victims of rape and sexual assault at a distressingly heightened rate compared to the general Australian population.
I'm disgusted and enraged. All I can think is that I'm glad the nice, upstanding, respected, football-playing individual who sexually assaulted me all those years ago wasn't a few years older and playing for an NRL team. I might have had to listen to a woman I admired speaking in his defence.
The bodies of women and girls are worth more than a fucking football game.
Natalia did that interview meme a little while ago, and I asked for questions. She provided the following, which I happily answered.
1. If you could inhabit a single popular fantasy/SF world - which one would you choose and why?
It depends on how I'm inhabiting it! My first thought was the Whoniverse... but then, most people wandering around that are just regular people who happen to be highly skilled at ignoring obvious displays of alien existence. My second thought was the X-universe, based on likelihood that someone atypical like me would translate as a mutant there... but then, thanks to Ms Maximoff, those odds have dropped considerably, and that world does have an annoying habit of getting dystopian with great frequency.
My third thought was that I'm really outing myself as a giant fucking nerd by responding to this question in this fashion.
My final decision: Discworld. I think I could rock on Discworld. Terry Pratchett writes strong female characters (especially appealing as my family has a thread of witchcraft running through it... I like the implications of that translating directly!) and his sex worker politics aren't terrible. That little factor was the one ruling out Joss Whedon's other offering of the Firefly/Serenity universe, as the idea of being a Space!Whore would have been kinda cool if he hadn't made some decisions about the nature of "Companion" life that make me grind my teeth.
2. Describe your clothing style. Details! We wants details!
Femme, but quirky. A few elements remain from my goth days, but they mostly come out when I go to goth nights with goth friends who'll appreciate them. Knee high socks (stripey AND plain) play a large role, and I have a tendency to wear a lot of black and red for totally un-fan-girly reasons. I wear skirts more than pants, have a love for unusual frocks, and occasionally spend days in a rockabilly themed world for no easily explainable reason. Every now and then, I wear suits and vests and shirts and braces and jackets and bowler hats... but with my rack and the way I present, it doesn't really count as gender-fucking. More "Jesus, look at the tits that woman fits into a vest!"
I DO own T-shirts and comfy pants, usually cargo style with stars and things on them. I tend to get a little antsy after spending too much time in them, though. The femme and the performer in me start clamouring for a little attention and I have to wear something a little less boring.
Finally, shoes... ah, shoes. I have a weakness, and it shows in my collection. Everything from heels to flats to platforms to fetish footwear to vintage inspired pieces to those shoes I love too much to wear outside. I own a LOT of variations on the theme of "mary jane".
I'll confess it here: I own too many clothes, and far too many shoes. I'm not so big on physical possessions otherwise, but the first thing I did when I established I had a stable, hopefully permanent roof over my head and slightly more money coming in that was needed to survive was start expanding my wardrobe. My job and my performance art, unfortunately, gives me an excuse to buy pieces I could never justify otherwise.
To summarise: Hexy on a casual day will generally be in a just-above-the-knee skirt, knee high socks, chunky mary janes, a fitted top possibly bearing some kind of slogan, and depending on the weather a cardigan, jacket or coat. I like coats. If it's cold, I may add a hat, scarf and gloves. Hexy dressed up? Anything from vintage-inspired frocks to corsets, stilettos and a quirkily designed home made fascinator, to a suit worn with a pink skull-and-crossbones tie, platform boots and a hat.
3. In all of the continent of Australia, what is your favourite spot above all? Why?
While I'm fond of my current neighbourhood, and retain a certain "I've only ever visited so the place still has that holiday shininess" love for Melbourne, if I close my eyes and picture my favourite place I end up right here. That's the beach I grew up next to, it's the beach that my dreamscape beach looks suspiciously like, and if it wasn't ridiculously inconvenient to my current abode, I would probably still spend time right about where that "A" is.
I also have a weakness for Byron, partly because it reminds me a lot of growing up next to that other beach, and partly because I'm completely in love with the tofu kebabs made at the local hippie kebab store. If I could go and live anywhere without worrying about money and just live with me, R, our hypothetical spawn and some dogs, it would probably be a small coastal town near Byron. Not in Byron itself, as it's invaded by drunken fuckwits every summer holidays and I'd probably stab someone, but close enough to get those delicious kebabs whenever I pleased.
4. What do you miss about your childhood?
Now that's an interesting question. I had a fairly miserable childhood, although certainly not full of the horrors some children have to deal with. It's an odd answer, but I'd have to say "I miss being brilliant". I've written before about how my perceptions and way of thinking changed when I was medicated, and how strange it's been for me to adapt to getting by in a world where I don't have that constantly charging powerhouse of mental energy inside me. I was an incredibly precocious child, with an extremely promising academic record. I was in a program being mentored by Australian novelists as my creative writing showed great promise, and math and music were both things I understood intuitively and at a level beyond my years.
Unfortunately, I also had childhood pre-schizophrenia. Which went unrecognised until I hit adulthood and developed my current collection of neuroses.
Most of that is gone now. I'm still bright... it's not like my medication makes me stupid. It just slows down my thinking, to a speed that is sustainable rather than breakneck and manic. My ability to intuitively read, listen and play music is gone, as the medication dampens my synaesthesia. I find math similarly difficult to just "get". I still have fairly good command of the written word, but I don't have the torrent of material and references pouring through my head that I used to. Also, I sleep now. Tends to leave less time in the day for brilliance.
I don't know if I'd take it back, knowing what it was. But I miss it from time to time. Genius is a hard thing to leave on the shelf once you've tried it.
5. If you had a theme song, what would it be?
I often say that Girl Anachronism by the Dresden Dolls would be my theme song, but ironically enough was written a teeny bit too late. Still, sometimes it's very me.
That was fun! And, more importantly, it got me writing stuff. I seem to be all about the interviews at the moment. Does anyone else want to throw five questions at me in the comments?
I've been stuck at home sick all week. As well as feeling completely dreadful, this means I've earned exactly zero moneys from my sex work job, and also that I'm down one week of time at the Whoreganisation. That's going to set me back quite some way in the things that need to be done this month, and I'm not happy about it.
Still, I managed to spend more time out of bed today than I'd managed on previous days, and I've been eating things that aren't considered pharmaceuticals. The wonderful comments left on my interview at Renee's have me smiling, so I feel a bit encouraged to blog.
A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was trying to write a "day in the life" type of entry. Of course, it being MY life, the days are wildly different, so it was more "four days in the life". It was originally intended to be a look at the differences between my work days, but coincidentally lined up with a week I was suffering some really crippling depression, and got some bad news I was unable to deal with. Oddly enough, this makes it a more accurate peep into a week in the life of hexy.
I've wrestled with the idea of posting it, honestly. It makes me feel a little vulnerable to post something like this, rather than a post that is me ranting about something, on an open blog. But hey, sharing is friendly.
I think this was three weeks ago, maybe four. I didn't actually write down the dates as I thought I'd be posting at the end of the week I took notes for.
MONDAY
12:22AM Get home from Sunday nightshift at SW job. Bitch at R about shitty night in which I only earned $25. Begin note-taking for this entry. 12:32AM Take off makeup. R is attempting to fix my laptop, with minimal success. Attempt to help, even though "hardware" is a language I do not speak. 12:43AM Drag frustrated R away from computer. Feed bunny. Take meds. Sleep. 8:30AM Woken up by R leaving the house, try to get back to sleep. 11:00AM Wake up again. Am now late for work. Shower, throw on clothes, feed bunny, chew on a piece of toast as I run out the door, throw my clothes into the laundromat and run for the bus. Just make it onto bus. 11:55AM Arrive at work. Chat, make tea, apply make up (hereafter referred to semi-affectionatly as "whore paint") 12:20PM Check email: one booking, then a cancellation of the same booking. Sigh. 12:40PM Client comes in. Dress, meet client. Client walks out without seeing anyone. Remove corset, boots, etc. 1:15PM One of my co-workers does a lunch run. 1:50PM Eat lunch. Read things on the internet to kill time. 2:30PM Finally some work, although not much. Dress, head upstairs to do a brief cameo on someone else's session. When I come downstairs, I realise it's raining. Not likely to help business. Remove corset, boots, etc. 2:45PM Client arrives. Dress, meet. He doesn't see me. Remove corset, boots, etc. 3:32PM Read the Sydney Morning Herald. 4:15PM Disturbing group conversation with co-workers about enema art. Engage in some light gossip. 4:30PM Look at pictures of a co-worker's kids. Boss shows up to discuss some new equipment, new softer vibes requested by some of the workers who use them in session. 4:47PM Take booking for 6:30 4:55PM Client arrives. Dress, meet. He doesn't see me. Remove corset, boots, etc. 5:10PM Hungry. Don street clothes, go to the shop for a small, cheap snack. 6:30PM Booking arrives. Dress, meet client to discuss session, go into booking. 7:40PM Emerge from booking. Remove corset, boots, etc. Clean room. Watch So You Think You Can Dance Australia verdict show. 7:45PM Receive an SMS about an article for the Whoreganisation magazine. 8:10PM Realise I've hurt my back during the session I did. Swear loudly, hope it isn't too bad. 8:30PM Watch Good News Week, half packing up in preparation for hometime. 9:00PM Surprise booking! Dress, meet client, go into booking. 9:30PM Emerge from booking, clean room, head home. 9:50PM Eat grapes, take off whore paint, jump on internet. 11:06PM Take painkillers and muscle relaxant for now quite painful back. Cross fingers for less pain in morning. 11:30PM Feed bunny, take meds, get into bed.
Yes, I put my boots and corset on and take them off many times in a day.
All that free time reading, watching telly, and killing time online sounds lovely, doesn't it? Such a shame I only get paid for time actually doing sessions.
TUESDAY:
9:00AM Wake up, shower, dress, grab toast, feed bunny, realise my back is still seizing, leave house. 10:06AM Catch bus. Slightly less running than yesterday, still a close thing. I really need to work on my punctuality. 10:20AM Arrive at work. Apply whorepaint. Make a cup of tea and grab the work laptop. Check mail, no bookings. 11:45AM Client arrives. Not for me. Take painkillers. 12:01PM Phone session. Spend twenty minutes on phone to client. 12:21PM Back on laptop. 1:10PM Client arrives, seeking a submissive. Dress, meet client. He doesn't see me. Undress, back on laptop. 1:25PM Email a SW friend who is writing some text content for my website with the briefs of the content I need. 1:45PM Go on lunch run. 2:23PM Break a nail. Swear loudly. Having had a slow week, I was hoping to put off getting my nails done until next week, but clearly they have other plans. 2:36PM Settle in with a trashy magazine. 2:55PM Client arrives. Dress, meet, wants to see me. Has specific wardrobe request, I get changed and meet him in room. 4:00PM Out of session. Wait til client leaves, clean room. Return to trashy mag. 4:20PM Eat a piece of toast a co-worker makes me. 5:00PM Leave work. Am intending to go to the gym, but my mood is too flat and my back is too sore. I don't want to risk making my back worse and putting myself out of work for two weeks. 6:30PM Veg at home. I take more painkillers, then watch the episode of Heroes I downloaded the previous night. 7:45PM Make arrangements via email for an upcoming photoshoot, post on Facebook asking if anyone wants to model for the Life Drawing class R runs on Thursday night to fundraise for the local queer space. 11:00PM Secure model. Make facebook event for Life Drawing. Feed bunny, take meds, go to bed.
That's two of my three days at the Dungeon that week. It was a slow week, but at least I got some work done. My back and my brain both decided to pick on me at once, which is never fun.
The next two days are my Whoreganisation days for that week.
WEDNESDAY:
9:30AM Wake up late after shitty night's sleep. Shower, dress, run out door. 10:30AM Get to work late. Eat cereal grumpily. 10:47AM Check work email, set agenda for the day. 10:55AM Take delivery of our allotment of magazines from a SW organisation. 11:35AM Finally finish wading through work email. Start working on the three-monthly three-page slot in the Whoreganisation contributes to the magazines of the SW orgs that make up our membership. 12:12PM Have a snack of dumplings as the male sex work teleconference starts. Look after the phones while that's going on. Get back to the pages I was working on. 12:25PM Finish draft of pages. Print and hand over to boss. Move on to working on one of the mailouts I'm responsible for. 12:36PM Field call from a Qld woman trying to get in touch with her local SW org. Provide her with the number. 12:47PM Back is in agony. Take more painkillers. Lie on floor for five minutes. Answer confused query from co-worker about being on the floor. 1:10PM Send mailout to coworker to give a quick edit. 1:21PM Compose and email out to lists content call for our magazine. 1:50PM Send mailout to relevant lists. Message people on the Whoreganisation's Facebook group encouraging them to join said relevant mailing list. 2:14PM Begin work on magazine layout. 3:00PM Break for lunch. 3:35PM Scan the letter mentioned in this post from gay street press and send to mailing list. Admin tasks for the mailing list I'm responsible for. 3:51PM Return to work on magazine. 5:09PM Pages returned from boss with recommended changes. Make adjustments. 5:21PM Arrange a meeting with an outreach worker from the Hunter region for two weeks from now. Send pages back to boss with changes made for final approval. 5:30PM Leave work half an hour early due to doctor's appointment. Fortunately have time in lieu accrued from working late in previous weeks. 6:10PM Arrive at doctors. This is a doctor I haven't seen before. He's a fucking idiot. He fills my scripts in wrong, but I don't notice until later. 7:15PM Arrive at cafe where I am meeting some friends who have a standing Wednesday night coffee arrangement. Am not feeling OK. Have a snack, chat for a little while, mostly listen to other people talk and try to feel social. 9:30PM Arrive home. Check intertubes, complete write ups for my sex work journal. 11:00PM Conversation with a friend who is going through a rough patch. Makes me feel a little better to help. 11:45PM Feed bunny, take meds, get into bed. Cry for a while. Sleep.
There's beginning to be a sense that things aren't OK, isn't there?
THURSDAY:
Thursday would ordinarily have been a fairly similar day to Wednesday, except with different deadlines to try and meet. Alas, it was not to be. I overslept (I always do so when my depression is kicking my ass) and arrived late, feeling horribly glum. I got as far as finishing the epic work email check, when I got some bad news.
It wasn't anything truly catastrophic, but I just had no spoons left to deal. I broke down, crying, and after spending a good forty-five minutes shaking, crying and trying desperately to get back in control, I decided I had to go home. Fortunately for me, the Whoreganisation is understanding about such things, and my boss was sympathetic.
As I said at the beginning, this all happened a few weeks ago. I'm doing a bit better now. In the brain sense, there have been tears and gloom and scary moments and psychiatrist visits and medication adjustments and talks that are helpful. There's also been that horrible flu thing I had for the last week, which if nothing else distracted me by making me feel a very different kind of not-OK.
So. That's four examples of what "a work day" can mean in my world, give or take slower or busier work weeks and better or worse mental health. Aside from the ones I already know, like the Whoreganisation being awesomely understanding and flexible as an employer, I'm curious to know how familiar or alien bits of them are to those of you who read this. Although hopefully not in a "You're privileged NO YOU'RE PRIVILEGED" flame war kinda way.
I can't even begin to describe how stoked I was to be asked to participate... or how nervous I am now that the interview is up! The interview developed a more or less sex workers rights focus, which makes me doubly nervous.
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