I spent ten hours sleeping today. I was sleeping like a drug addict. I spent about two days awake, maybe. I was awake all weekend. I could look at my personal diary and see when I woke up, when I went to sleep. My life has become the sort of life where I must keep track of when I slept. For the first time in my life I really do not sleep well. It’s not that I can’t sleep or that I don’t enjoy it, it’s more that I sleep so deep and so hard that waking up is really painful. In fact it is the most physically painful thing in my life, save for the sunshine.
So I was awake for two days and then I slept for ten hours. And at some point while I was asleep I got a text from a dude who has been a big fan for ten years, maybe longer. We have had a few sessions and I shot a video with him once. He sends me all this unsolicited shit. He is constantly texting me and asking me when I am going to be in his town, if I want him to send me some new boots. Sometimes he send pictures of me that I have never even seen before. It borders on stalkerish.
Once when I was really in a bad space financially he told me he would do something nice for me and he sent me a care package in the post. It was full of canned meat. Different kinds of spam and mini-sausages. If it was meant to be ironic it was awesome but if he really assumed I would eat canned meat he was clearly mistaken. I have chronic financial troubles and often, usually in the summer, I’m kind of low on food — but I have a really sensitive system and I’m kind of heath conscious. I’m not obsessive or anything but I don’t eat fast food, canned meat, or potato chips. My bad food tends to run the gamut of pancakes and eggs, amazing delicious organic freshly killed pork, and beer. Yes, all at once. I have a real weakness for it. So why he sent me spam I suppose I will never know. I hope it was irony. It made me giggle and in inspired a photo shoot. I mean, who gets snail mail spam? Junk mail sure, but spam? Wow, just wow. So for the spam he will always hold a special place in my world. But I really dislike getting the frequent text messages asking about my return to his city — a city that I assume I will live in at some point, a city that I love to visit, a city where all of my bad habits are allowed to run amuck. A good place for me to go if I am ready to give up on everything. So when will I be back — as soon as it is feasible for me. You want to send me footwear? My mailing address and shoe size can be found on my blog. Don’t ask if I want boots, just send me some. Text saying you sent some boots, not ‘do you want some boots.’ What the fuck is that — wanna treat little doggie? He bought me one pair of boots, one time. They were shitty cheap thigh high boots with a heel that was not the 8 inches or more that I enjoy. The boots stayed unworn for years until I finally gave them to a young woman in a college dorm room at three in the morning a about a year and half ago. I hope she still enjoys them.
But I do not enjoy getting unsolicited texts about potential gifts that will never come. If I have the patience I just ignore the messages, but often ignoring them just inspires more of them, so I send him STOP TEXTING ME, and it usually generates one more text of ‘sorry’ before he stops. But he will text again as soon as his little crooked dick gets hard.
Today I told him that I am going to change my phone number.
Then a few hours later, while I was working on hour ten of my dead girl sleep I got a phone call. I didn’t recognize the number but I answered it, hoping it was money. The guy on the other end of the line told me he was in NYC, wanted to know when I would be there and then asked me if I offer brown showers. I just hung up on him. I was in a fog and I don’t want people calling me to ask me shit that is easily discovered on the internet. I assume that he was not looking for a poop right away, so why not send a polite email?
As soon as I jung up on him he called me right back. Why can’t you figure out that I hung up on you? I answered and told him that there was no reason to be calling me at this number and I hung up again. Then a series of texts came in, pointing me to what I assumed was the page on this blog that explains my rules regarding brown showers. So, why the phone call dum-dum?
Then I was awake. I was awake and aware that I had passed out for ten hours. I was on top of my blankets cause it is too fucking hot. I had horrible charley-horses in both legs. After screaming at my legs and doing deep ass lamaze breathing for way too long for legs to be cramped up, I tried to get out of bed. This inspired a series of further charley horses, I bumped into the fancy ass wrought iron handle on a dresser, and became a rage machine simply uttering obscenities at the top of my lungs.
I fucking hate waking up. It sucks so fucking much. But when it has been combined with texts from mr boot man, and mr brown shower it sucks even more. Why are these wankers bothering me? I suppose because they can. Maybe they really wanted to see if I would talk to them, give them free attention, blog about them.
And now that I am awake and fully caffeinated, stretched out, and ready to remain awake for something slightly under 72 hours, I’m reflecting on the days communication.
Who did I enjoy hearing from? A good friend of mine — Tara Emory (go to her website and pay her — PAY) and a niteflirt comic who calls me rarely but is totally sweet and wonderful. I love being paid to talk to people who appreciate my time and talent. I do not love wankers on my phone. So, I’m seriously thinking about changing my the number I have had for over ten years. I’m not really sure I should, but I’m sick of every asswipe on the internet having access to my personal number.
Yes, most sex workers have two numbers. I don’t want the cost of two mobile phones. I don’t want the cost of this mobil phone plan. It is horrific. And who calls me? Does the phone do me any good at all? Not sure. I think I’m gonna try leaving it at home, ignoring it, not using it as a gps, putting my music someplace else, not fucking touching the stupid mobil gadget. Do they even make ipods without phones in them anymore? And do I care? I don’t walk around with earbuds in. If I’m on a plane I do drugs, wear ear plugs, pass the fuck out, and request a wheelchair. If I’m walking down the street I like being aware of my surroundings. I listen to make sure I’m not wandering into some fucked up dangerous shit on the street. Radical I know.
The last time I was wandering down the street looking at my gadget as a gps to help my drunken ass catch the last train home I fell in the street and smashed the glass all to hell. It is still broken. And I only recently stopped having constant pain that was associated with that particular fall. I fall all the time. I don;t need something in my life that is going to make me fall more often.
So, I’m toying with ditching the mobil phone. There are so many better ways to talk to people. But, what about when I’m trying to find someone in a crowd? Maybe I’ll try writing down their mobil number and asking a stranger to allow my to use their phone. Strippers are always asking me to use my phone.
The few friends I have — I could give them a better number to reach me at. Maybe one that does not cost me over a grand a year to maintain. The more I think about it the more it seems like an obvious choice to ditch the baggage of the mobile phone. But do I want to be that one person who does not have one? We all know that person and they are kind of annoying, right? Oh but wait, I love being an annoyance. Fuck yeah.
I’m so ditching my phone.