Voiceless

As the result of going to work Tuesday and on a dinner date afterward (quite heedless considering my ongoing illness), I have laryngitis. I had been telling myself to eat an orange and to stop acting like a pansy all week re: my cold or whatever I have, but now I must-- at least nominally-- take stock of all the reasons I have been wearing myself so thin lately-- into exhausted, now-silent tatters, really.

I've had these periods of voicelessness at least once a year as far back as I can remember-- typically, they last 2 days, although once it was nearly 9. Luckily such prolonged bouts of silence always inspire introspection in me. Well, at worst I'll be keeping a forced vow of silence during the home stretch of Lent, in lieu of the voluntary one I wanted to implement. To be honest, I would be enjoying myself entirely if I didn't have a day job which required me to speak. When I was an art model this was less of a factor. Well, at least for today, I'll absolutely WALLOW in silence.

Since I started living as though the world is my playground instead of a material prison nothing seems half as terrible or serious as it did before.

PS Tuesday night my date and I showed up to the restaurant dressed remarkably alike. We were wearing such painfully similar jackets he took his off to negate the gross couples-who-dress-alike effect:



"Did you get your jacket at Marc Jacobs, too?" I asked, feeling my skin crawl.

As it turns out we'd both had other wardrobe issues at work that day, as well. His boss had asked him to stop wearing shirts with lavender stripes (he's a lawyer in finance) as a concession to the conservative tastes of certain prospective clients he was scheduled to meet with this week. My had manager requested I get a short black gown he insisted would flatter my "bangin' body" more than the green on I was wearing. When I mentioned this to my date he suggested I buy a schoolgirl outfit, since all the Wall St. brokers he deals with (which also make up the lion's share of Tryst's clientele) like teenage girls better than anything else.

"You know you could pass for 18 with those pigtails and a pleated skirt," he said, pointing playfully at my hair-do.

I replied with a smile:

"So buy me a schoolgirl outfit. I'll wear it."

Since we were in the West 4th area we comparison-shopped at a couple of nearby sex shops and found one, which he bought with barely-concealed enthusiasm. I'll take pics of it soon. It kind of sucks, but it was the best one to be had on the block.

Silence

“Men govern nothing with more difficulty than their tongues, and can moderate their desires more than their words”
-- Spinoza

As I get older, I seem to get a lot more lackadasical about communication, but these things come in phases for everyone, and I know my friends and family are aware I love them even if we don't speak as often as we used to, and that I'll get in touch again eventually. However, I'm a little ashamed to admit I've been blowing off birthday parties without a phone call, that sort of thing lately. In fact, I haven't seen my phone in days-- I think it may have gotten lost in the move, which means I can be M.I.A. without being rude, but only for a little longer. Lately I don't miss or desire socializing outside work and errands whatsoever, but I'll have to be careful not be too much of a hermit.

It must be the effects of winter and/or the Lenten season, or maybe I'm just adjusting to the fun, horror and fascination of being a stripper.

This time of year I always think of Christ in the desert, fasting and purifying himself for his coming trials. By intrinsic inclination and custom as a Protestant, I don't venerate Saints, but I often find inspiration in re-reading "Lives of the Saints" around this time of year. Although the "holy" men and women who indulged in voluntary mortification of the body strike me as having severely missed the mark, every time I read the story of St. Francis or Bernadette I feel renewed in spirit on an idealistic level. Transcending, rather than giving free rein to, the grossest and most indulgent demands of the flesh seems to be one of the key ingredients to a Virtuous life. I don't want to learn how to manipulate the material world to my advantage by adapting to its vagaries. I don't even believe such a thing is possible. The only thing to do is use prayer as an anchor and foundation and project one's inner world outward.

Funny how I spend so much time thinking thoughts like this, have been born again a few times and still can't seem to stay away from the sex industry. Obviously my intellectual machinations and physical being are barriers in this instance, rather than catalysts for further spiritual growth. My flesh itself yields no insight, that's for sure, although I've found I become more radiant the less I let my own brutish animal instincts run the show. Believe it or not.

I need to find a partner with whom to pray/meditate. I think my blonde friend down the block would be into it.

I am considering taking an informal vow of silence until Easter outside work, which I was able to do with a fair amount of success in 8th grade. Maybe I can do it again.

Most words are wasted, anyway. A touch, a prayer, a vow, a simple explanation-- all of these things can be sacred, profane, or inconsequential, depending on the context.

I might make more money at work if I talk less, anyhow. I seriously doubt most men come in to a strip club to have a meaningful conversation, right?